Visual Research Methods in the Social Sciences: Awakening Visions [2 ed.] 1032168781, 9781032168784

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‘This is such an energising and thoughtful exploration of visual methods in their myriad forms. Written accessibly, and blending theoretical and critical discussions with practical advice, Stephen Spencer’s book is a must for any researcher using visual methods for the first time, or seeking to develop their visual skillset.’ Jon Dean, Associate Professor in Politics and Sociology, Sheffield Hallam University, UK

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Visual Research Methods in the Social Sciences

Visual Research Methods in the Social Sciences: Awakening Visions is an indispensable resource for students, researchers and teachers seeking to use visual sources in their research and understand how images work. This fully updated edition adds questions and activities for studies and many new images and models as well as additional exploration of social and theoretical contexts and examples of current visual and multimodal research. Due to the proliferation of image-centric social media and the growing potential for ‘fake news’, being able to critically assess media and other visual messages is more important than ever. For researchers embarking on visual research this book offers useful practical guidance and real-world examples from seasoned researchers exploring cultures as varied as: religious cults inVenezuela, the Beer Can Regatta in Darwin, Mapuche Indians in Chile and graffiti artists in Sheffield. It offers an integrated approach to visual research, building compelling case studies using a wide range of visual forms, including: archive images, media samples, maps, objects, video, photographs and drawings alongside a range of qualitative approaches. Examples of the visual construction of ‘place’, representations of social identities and different approaches to analysis are explored in the first section of the book, whilst the essays in the second section highlight the creativity and innovation of four leading visual researchers. This new edition will prove valuable for both experienced visual researchers and those embarking on visual research in the social sciences for the first time. Stephen Spencer retired as a Senior Lecturer in Sociology in 2020. His research interests include popular culture and its role in mediating everyday social life, the exploration of ‘race’ and ethnicity, media representation and social identities. He is the author of ‘A Dream Deferred’: Guyana Under the Shadow of Colonialism (Hansib, 2006) and Race and Ethnicity: Culture, Identity and Representation (Second Edition, Routledge, 2014), which concerned the ways in which people are classified and the role of images in popular culture as a means of circulating mythical concepts of ‘race’ and multicultural identity. His more recent research has focused on visual methodologies for research and teaching as well as their use in exploring urban divisions, including Africville in Nova Scotia in 2008 and Sheffield in South Yorkshire in 2013–18. He has also produced short video pieces on consumerism, moral panics, media representation of the Iraq conflict, homeless Aborigines in Darwin and the complex meanings of multiculturalism.

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Visual Research Methods in the Social Sciences Awakening Visions Second Edition Stephen Spencer

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Cover image: Dave Surridge recording artwork by Phlegm and others at The Heathcote Works off Sidney Street, Sheffield. Photograph taken by Stephen Spencer 2010 Second edition published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business © 2023 Stephen Spencer The right of Stephen Spencer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. First edition published by Routledge 2010 British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Spencer, Stephen, author. Title:Visual research methods in the social sciences : awakening visions / Stephen Spencer. Description: Second edition. | Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022015024 (print) | LCCN 2022015025 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032168753 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032168784 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003250746 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Visual sociology. | Social sciences–Research. Classification: LCC HM500 .S64 2022 (print) | LCC HM500 (ebook) | DDC 302.2/22–dc23/eng/20220405 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022015024 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022015025 ISBN: 978-1-032-16875-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-16878-4 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-25074-6 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746 Typeset in Bembo by Newgen Publishing UK Access the Support Material: www.routledge.com/Visual-Research-Methods-inthe-Social-Sciences-Awakening-Visions/Spencer/p/book/9781032168753

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For Ramona and Tom

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Contents

List of Figures, Diagrams and Table List of Contributors Preface to the Second Edition Acknowledgements Introduction

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PART I

Visual Research and Social Realities

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Visualising Social Life

An Evolving Visual Culture 9 Urban Visions 14 The Cultural Imaginary 18 Is Seeing Believing? 19 Images as Evidence: Seen and Unseen 20 Photographs as ‘Specified Generalisations’ 23 Poetics of the Visual 27 Indeterminacy: Pareidolia and Aberrant Decoding 28 Intertextuality 30 The Photograph as Proof of Existence – the Enigma of the Image 32 Scopic Regimes: Surveillance, Spectacles and Simulations 36 Technologies:Tools of Oppression or Liberation? 42 Benefits of Visual Approaches 44

The Research Process and Visual Methods

Ontology 53 Epistemology 55 Methodologies – Getting Started 59 Phenomenology 61 Ethnography 64 Case Studies 67 Representation 68 Narrative Research 69

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x Contents Video: Intersubjective Strategies 78 Awakening Vision: Developing Visual Research in Sociology 80 Ethics and Visual Research 83 Methodologies in Action 86 1. Autophotography and Photo-Elicitation 86 2. Photo-Documentation and Photo-Essays 92

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’

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Visualising Identity

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Visual Analysis

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Sense of Place 106 Maps in Visual Research 113 Mapping Inner-City Sense of Place 116 Into the Divide: Community Identities and the Visualisation of Place 118 Locating the Site 120 Exploring the City 121 Signs of Diversity – Spectres of Multiculturalism 124 Pandemic Space – The ‘Inertia of the Real’ 128 Video Ethnography:Walking with a Camera 130 Contested Spaces: 1. Africville 131 Contested Spaces: 2. Halfeti – Only the Fish Shall Visit 135 Contested Spaces: 3.Wadjemup/Rottnest Island 138 Traumascapes:Towers on Fire 139 Country – Far from Nature 142 Nationality, Race and Ethnicity 157 Visual Representations of Age Identity 163 Collective Symbols of Identity 169 El Charro – Mexican Iconography 170 Uneasy Symbols – Signs of Dissent 173 Seeing Things: Entangled in Material Culture 175 Visual Identity and Product Attributes 185 Body Projects 186 Modalities and Sites 194 The Intersubjective and Inter-Objective Aspects of Images 195 Image,Time and Memory 199 Understanding Forms of Visual Analysis 202 Semiotic Analysis 203 Paradigms and Syntagms 204 Denotation and Connotation 206 Operation Margarine 210 Forms of Discourse Analysis 214 Using Archive Images 218 Using Multiple Levels of Visual Analysis 224 Content Analysis and Electronic Digital Aids 226

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Contents xi PART II

Research Practices in Focus

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Introduction to Part II

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6 Framing a Photographie Féminine: Photography of the City

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PA N I Z Z A A L LMARK

7 Mixing Mediums and Methods: Practice-Led Research into Interactive Screen-Based Production and Reception

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S A R A H AT K INSON

8 Photography as Process, Documentary Photographing as Discourse

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RO G E R B ROWN

9 Research as an Eclectic Assemblage: Notes on a Visual Ethnography of the Cult of María Lionza (Venezuela, Barcelona, and the Internet)

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RO G E R CA N ALS

Conclusion

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Appendix Glossary Bibliography Index

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Figures, Diagrams and Table

Figures 1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 1.7 1.8 1.9 1.10 1.11 1.12 1.13 1.14 1.15 1.16 1.17 1.18 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 2.10

Commission for Racial Equality poster, ‘Scared?’, 1999, Sheffield Window display, Broomhill Party Shop, Sheffield Brooklyn (2010), a woman considers a mural, 3rd Avenue Graffiti on the roof of the derelict Hallam Towers Hotel in Sheffield (now demolished), 2012 Image based on the cards used in the Asch conformity experiments Visions of ‘race’: (a) J. Hammerton (c. 1932), People of the World (b) Cuvier’s Natural History, illustration by Edward Landseer (c. 1890) Stills from the Guardian ‘Point of View’ advert (1987) The flag vendors, Fargate, Sheffield (2006) Tourists at Darwin’s Mindil beach markets (2005) A dog eating from a picnic plate at One Mile Dam in Darwin (still from a video made in 2005) Combining different forms of evidence Pareidolia – hidden face in tree roots, Peak District First of ten cards in the Rorschach Test Two fifteenth-century carved figures, Leschman tomb, Chantry Chapel, Hexham Abbey, 2021 Grotesque figure, Parade Chambers, High Street, Sheffield Mrs Moore, Sowerby Bridge, 1983 Son of a Lincolnshire miner, c. 1918 Graphic of six basic emotions – emojification project Open air gallery, Cheltenham, UK (2007) Defaced statue of Queen Victoria in Georgetown, Guyana (1991) Peeling the Bramleys (2012) ‘After the Incidents, No. 1’, by Panizza Allmark (2006) Kumbutjil sign Intervention sign (Pariah website) Interview with Malcolm Cumberbatch, political sociologist Lloyd (senior community worker and broadcaster, 2006) Lloyd speaking fifteen years later, Sheffield Peace Gardens, 2021 Wall mural, Broomhall, Sheffield (2009)

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List of Figures, Diagrams and Table xiii 2.11 2.12

3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6 3.7 3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.12 3.13 3.14 3.15 3.16 3.17 3.18 3.19 3.20 3.21 3.22 3.23 3.24 3.25 3.26 3.27 3.28

Emma Owen’s Mapuche research (2014), Chile: (a) Rural scene, family walking, (b) Rural scene showing traditional Mapuche flag, (c) Traditional salsa meal, (d) Urban scene – at the bus depot Four images of graffiti from Dave Surridge’s archival research: (a) Phlegm – Wounded giant, (b) coLor’s Rhino head, (c) Phlegm – Crouching figure, (d) Phlegm – Tragedy/Comedy masks in a derelict playhouse ‘Pussy Willow’ – a tree hung with dead feral cats at William Creek Underpass from London Road, Sheffield, 2012 Empty & Full: (a) Australia as Terra Nullius, (b) based on 1990s graffiti Pre-colonial map of Australian Aboriginal languages ‘Why?’ Indigenous artwork Carlisle ‘Renaissance’ map project created by Paul Taylor and Sue Stockwell, 2009 Contrasts in Brick & Stone – red brick of Broomhall flats Stone-built mansion – Broomhall, Sheffield Participative mapping: (a) Respondent 2, (b) Respondent 3 Google Earth images: (a) Kulgera Roadhouse, (b) Desert scene along the Stuart Highway Industrial ruins along the Sheffield and Tinsley Canal A ‘botanic’ statue of a steelworker ‘Sheffy Stan’ (Sheffield) ‘Teeming’ – bronze statue by Robin Bell (1991) – Meadowhall Shopping Centre Relief panels on a statue of Edward VII, Fitzalan Square: (a) ‘Unity’; (b) ‘Philanthropy’; (c) Sheffield – Where everyone matters Pandemic space: statue of ‘Women of Steel’, Barker’s Pool, Sheffield (April 2020) ‘Look Again’, exhorting vigilance in a London shopping centre (2019) Two Africville children, with Seaview African United Baptist Church and houses behind it in the distance Dog walkers watch our progress as Irvine Carvery leads us through ‘Africville’ Stills from a short video walk in Africville in 2007 Screen shots of Halfeti: (a) map of the town – Brogan Bunt’s interactive site, (b) townsfolk of Halfeti, ‘Only Fish Shall Visit’, 2001 Submerged remnants of the town as a tourist site Aboriginal prisoners on Rottnest Island in 1893 Tourist pamphlet cover, 1925–27 Ground Zero site, 2007 New York skyline from Brooklyn with anonymous photograph of the Twin Towers tied to the railings (2010) Poem found pinned to the wall nearby written by an elderly lady, Cicely, a local resident The Grenfell Tower fire (14 June 2017) Grouse troughs, Stanage Edge, Peak District, England

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xiv List of Figures, Diagrams and Table 3.29 3.30

4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9 4.10 4.11 4.12 4.13 4.14 4.15 4.16 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.13 5.14 5.15 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4

Patch burning, Stanage Edge, Peak District, England Two panoramic depictions of the Peak District: (a) a scene based on a photograph on the upper Derwent trail to Alport Castles, (b) a montage of photographs and drawings for a short animated video, ‘Green Serpent Hills’ Ray Egan – a John Bull-style protest, 2000 Statue of Edward Colston – M-Shed Museum, Bristol Members of the EDL hold a flag on the steps of Sheffield City Hall Construction of the teenager (a) Cover of pamphlet, ‘The Gap’: A Book to Bridge the Dangerous Years, (b) Scenes from a ‘moral panic’, ‘The Gap’ Nigel Farage launches the UKIP ‘Breaking Point’ poster, 2016 El Charro: Zapata figures: a collective symbol of Mexican identity Tina Modotti’s photograph – ‘Campesinos reading El Machete’, Mexico, 1929 West Ham United’s Jesse Lingard taking a knee before the Premier League game against Southampton at the London Stadium, 23 May 2021 Icon of prayer – a solid-weight icon from Font Awesome, a free web icon font Cabinet display, Historico-Naturalis et Archaeologica, Dale Street Votive wax offerings, Olhao, Portugal ‘Precious’ objects (2021) The RTA ‘Pinkie’ advertisement, 2007, New South Wales, Australia Tattoos as personal expression Elaine Davidson, ‘the world’s most pierced woman’ ‘Life is a Race’, watercolour, Eric Spencer (c. 1964) ‘The Cockerel’, oil, Eric Spencer (c. 1968) Photograph of a desk, Frances Road, Birmingham, Eric Spencer (c. 1948) Five soldiers playing cards, Duisburg, Germany, 1945 Mother and son. Images of Irish poverty Woman from Connemara ‘Three generations of a family pose beside their “home” at Alexander Street, Waterford’ (Saturday, 2 February 1924) ‘In some countries …’: advert from Australian Advertising Industry Council, The Australian newspaper, 1983 ‘Go Home’: front page, Northern Territory News, 2003 ‘Nature/Civilisation’, Queensland Figaro, 6 August 1887 ‘Amongst the Queensland Blacks’, Queensland Figaro, 10 December 1887 The Beer Can Regatta: inspecting contestants Close-up detail of a boat – Fanny Bay, Darwin, 2005 Examples of NVivo working with image files Word cloud: (a) Article visualised as word clouds, (b) Article visualised as word cloud in shape of a hand Las Vegas, 1999 New York (No. 1), 1999 New York (No. 2), 1999 London, 1999

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List of Figures, Diagrams and Table xv 6.5 6.6 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5 8.6 8.7 8.8 8.9 8.10 8.11 8.12 8.13 8.14 8.15 8.16 8.17 8.18 8.19 8.20 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5

Buenos Aires (No. 1), 2008 Buenos Aires (No. 2), 2008 The Crossed Lines screen presentation The Crossed Lines telephone interface The Crossed Lines cinematic installation: a viewer interacts with the large-scale version of the film Crossed Lines in production: the construction of the set for the character in screen 7 Crossed Lines in production: the director, Sarah Atkinson, on set with actor Alan Carr who plays the character in screen 2 Crossed Lines in production: the director, Sarah Atkinson, on set with actor Lloyd Peters who plays the character in screen 5 The ‘gaze plots’ that were generated through tracking the audience head and eye movements during their experience of viewing Crossed Lines The Crossed Lines installation on the road: at the International Conference in Interactive Digital Storytelling (ICIDS), Guimarães, Portugal, December 2009 Igniting the flare stack, Piper Alpha, North Sea (Occidental Petroleum) Fish filleting and processing shed, Aberdeen Royal Doulton Plc: Anne, aerobrush figurine decorator Hugh le Despenser the Younger, 1326, executed for high treason. Cervical vertebra C3 showing the inter-vertebral surface of the living bone where it has been sliced through by beheading Froissart: ‘The execution of Hugh le Despenser’, Hereford, 1326 HA16 (the surviving skeleton remains) Cervical vertebra C3: the moment of beheading Cervical vertebra C3: another view of the same site of beheading Lumbar vertebrae showing living bone surfaces The right clavicle where the right arm was cut away at the shoulder The thoracic section of the spine was also cut through vertically as the body was butchered New housing along the Caldon canal where potbanks previously stood Mrs Lottie Hughes, fourth-generation resident Residents’ Association meeting with the Regeneration Agency Former paper mill and Victorian housing and new-build housing, Cresswell Street Mr and Mrs Jeffries The Christmas children’s lantern parade through the district The Hole in the Wall oatcake shop Glenn Fowler and the Oatcake Girls Exhibition at the community centre María Lionza as La Reina (The Queen) María Lionza as an indigenous woman riding naked on a tapir María Lionza as a highly sensual white woman Visual schemes to demonstrate the relational character of the image of María Lionza María Lionza exhibition display, Museum of Ethnography, Barcelona

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xvi List of Figures, Diagrams and Table G.1 G.2

The structure of myth Different spheres of cultural meaning

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Diagrams 1.1 2.1 4.1 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 A.1

The act of seeing: resources, processes and restraints Research process diagram Matrix of cultural identity, 2006 Paradigms and syntagms Binary oppositions in the text Table adapted from Fairclough’s model of CDA (1995) Using multiple visual methods Using Rose’s sites and modalities to interpret The Incredulity of St Thomas by Caravaggio (1602)

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Model of visual analysis

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Table 5.1

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Contributors

Stephen Spencer retired as a Senior Lecturer in Sociology in 2020. His research interests include visual aspects of popular culture, ‘race’ and ethnicity, media representation and social identities. He is the author of ‘A Dream Deferred’: Guyana Under the Shadow of Colonialism (Hansib, 2006) and Race and Ethnicity: Culture, Identity and Representation (Second Edition, Routledge, 2014), which concerned the ways in which people are classified and the role of images in popular culture as a means of circulating mythical concepts of ‘race’ and multicultural identity. His more recent research has focused on visual methodologies for research and teaching as well as exploring urban divisions, including Africville in Nova Scotia in 2008 and Sheffield in South Yorkshire in 2013– 18. He has also produced short video pieces on consumerism, moral panics, media representation of the Iraq conflict, homeless Aborigines in Darwin and the complex meanings of multiculturalism. Panizza Allmark is Professor ofVisual and Cultural Studies and the Associate Dean of Arts at Edith Cowan University, Australia. She is also the chief editor of Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies. For over twenty years Panizza has worked as a documentary photographer and has spent time across Asia, Europe, North and South America. Her feminist photographic practices as a street photographer/photojournalist draw subversive critical attention to the body and female representations in the urban landscape. Écriture féminine, which traces a feminine writing of the body, which she has refocused as photographie féminine, engages in a self-reflexive ethical photographic practice that subverts dominant representations and seeks to empower through its representation of lived experiences. Panizza has had fifteen solo exhibitions and numerous group exhibitions. Her work has been exhibited in the UK, USA, Germany, China, Italy and Australia. Sarah Atkinson is Professor of Screen Media and Vice Dean for Arts at King’s College London. She has published widely on the film, cinema and screen industries and has worked on numerous funded immersive media projects and virtual reality initiatives. She is co-editor of Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies. She also adopts practice-based methodologies through the creation of her own original works which include video essays, an interactive documentary, immersive experiences and short films, including Live Cinema – Walking the Tightrope between Stage and Screen, which was nominated for a Learning on Screen Award in 2020. Roger Brown is a retired Senior Lecturer in Photography. His research interests are in the practice, theorising and aesthetics of social documentary photography, visual

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xviii List of Contributors anthropology and ethnography, and visual archaeology. He is also an exhibited and published documentary and still life photographer. Since retiring, he has further developed his interests in literature and music and is currently a committee member of the Stone Recorded Music Society and an active member of the University of the Third Age (U3A). Roger Canals is an Associate Professor in the Department of Social Anthropology at the University of Barcelona, Spain. An anthropologist and film-maker, he specialises in visual anthropology and Afro-American culture. He is the author of A Goddess in Motion: Visual Creativity in the Cult of María Lionza (Berghahn Books, 2017) and numerous journal articles on visual anthropology, religion and ethnographic film. He is currently principal investigator on the European Research Council-funded Visual Trust: Reliability, Accountability and Forgery in Scientific, Religious and Social Images project. He is also a member of the Indigenous and African American Cultures Study Group (CINAF) at the University of Barcelona and a member of the editorial board of the journals Anthrovision and Journal of Anthropological Films. He has made numerous ethnographic films including The Many Faces of a Venezuelan Goddess (2007), A Goddess in Motion (2016) and Chasing Shadows (2019, with Ramon Sarró and Marina Temudo).

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Preface to the Second Edition

This book addresses the complex world of the image and visual research. Hopefully, it provides some resources to ponder the different facets of the visual, and a range of examples which might broaden the avenues research can take, and give some pointers along the way. It starts with the premise that we need to step back and look more carefully, avoiding inbuilt assumptions which shape our ways of seeing. If we can look beyond the surface displays, everyday settings reveal profound evidence to inform our understanding of social issues. In the last twelve years since the first edition was launched, the image has undoubtedly become increasingly central, largely due to the expansion of social media platforms. Not to suggest that people are plunged into a submissive void or have lost their critical faculties, but it is prudent to be wary of this visual saturation and the increasing skills of political and commercial powers to choreograph persuasive spectacles. In terms of the process of research, this book offers an integrated approach to doing visual research, showing the potential for building convincing case studies using a mix of visual forms including the use of: archive images, media, maps, objects, video and still images, alongside an array of qualitative approaches to social science research. There is a focus on key theoretical ideas which underpin visual research, these are explored through examples of research in action. Ethnography, the visual construction of ‘place’, social identities and different approaches to analysis are explored in the first section of the book, whilst the essays in the second section highlight the creativity and skills of four seasoned visual researchers. Their detailed examples introduce readers to the possibilities for innovation and depth of analysis in visual research, with themes ranging from the ethnography of a Venezuelan cult goddess to the forensic photography of the skeleton of a fourteenth-century nobleman.They give a keen sense of the diverse motives, philosophies and benefits of using visual research methods.

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Acknowledgements

This second edition builds on the original emphasis on making sense of the everyday by reading the signs and sights all around us. But the intention was to deepen the exploration and the critical processes for analysing it.This edition includes new images, and showcases some recent research projects which give insight into the realities of visual research. I am indebted to the four authors, Panizza Allmark, Sarah Atkinson, Roger Brown and Roger Canals, whose essays make up Part II of the text. These essays demonstrate the diversity and innovation to be found in visual research today and the wealth of critical insights which underpin such work. In addition to these four contributors, I would like to thank several other collaborators: Emma Owen and Dave Surridge for allowing me to highlight some aspects of their recent research projects, bringing the experience of visual research vividly to life. Thank you to Irvine Carvery for his heartfelt account of the tragedy of Africville. Lloyd Samuels for his insightful comments about the unfolding trauma of the Windrush scandal and his camera work in Canada.Thank you to Malcolm Cumberbatch, for lending his moving testimony of arriving in England from Barbados in the 1960s. There are many others who have lent their insights, images and inspiration over the years, which have made this second edition possible. Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders for their permission to reprint material in this book.The publisher would be grateful to hear from any copyright holder who is not acknowledged and will undertake to rectify any errors or omissions in future editions of the book.

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Introduction

This book opens up the discussion of images and explores the many ways they can be used in social science research. It is intended for anyone who wishes to consider the importance of the visual and to engage with more in-depth understanding of social phenomena. We increasingly recognise that the visual should not be neglected when telling the story of our culture, not simply as passive illustrations to written text, but in ways that enable a nuanced and complex understanding of subtle often overlooked qualities of social life. Why should researchers in the social sciences focus their attentions on visual methods? There are two compelling reasons for becoming a ‘visualista’.1 First, because the visual is recognised as central to the human condition and to expressions of humanity which predate language, affecting emotions, identities, memories and aspirations in a profound way. We are visual beings in a world which is a visual array of meaning. Secondly, because of the recognised potential of visual methods to provide a deeper and more subtle exploration of social contexts and relationships, allowing us to see the everyday with new eyes. Nevertheless, the social sciences have treated the visual with ambivalence and caution, a ‘hermeneutics of suspicion’ (Ricoeur), which is sometimes warranted. As a result, use of visual material has often been relegated to subsidiary illustrations to written text. Traditionally, social science research was seen as a ‘discipline of words’ with the task of making careful visual recording of disappearing world cultures (Mead 1995). Today, the tools of research including cameras have been turned around to view our own societies as valid objects of study, and in the last three decades interest in the visual dimensions of social life has rapidly increased; forms of visual research are recognised as legitimate and powerful tools for researchers. This book aims to provide a guide to the thinking and planning processes involved for employing different forms of visual research in the project of understanding and representing crucial issues in social life. Arguably, we are not only an ‘interview society’ (Atkinson and Silverman 1997) but also an obsessively visual one, verging, at times, on the voyeuristic. Academic knowledge and scholarship, once so logocentric, is changing and developing, accompanied by rapid innovations in media and educational technologies, marking a cultural shift towards a society which is concerned with the visual recording of everyday social behaviours. The camera’s intrusion into every aspect of life was witnessed in the ascendency of ‘reality TV’ twenty years ago, coinciding with trends in surveillance and the burgeoning social media, linking the lives of celebrities to viewers, arguably making everyday life a reality show: But how should we behave now that we had our own reality shows? Like our favourite stars, of course. Be emotional. Create drama. Turn every mundane act into DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-1

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2 Introduction a form of self-expression to be shared with the world. Flatter, filter and edit ourselves constantly. Perform a version of ourselves even if it’s not quite real. And crucially, keep on sharing. (Newby 2021) Since the last edition (2010), global events have thrown us into a very different space. Today in 2022, as I write this, the environmental, social and political landscape has undergone a dialectical shift; no doubt one which has been in motion under the surface for many years. We are beset by polarising and catastrophic events around the world: the desperate urgency of climate change; the pace of migration; forces compelling millions from war-torn, drought- and flood-ravaged areas in the world’s south towards ‘fortress Europe’; Donald Trump’s presidency legitimating a new political rhetoric, informal, populist and deeply reactionary; the killing of George Floyd which triggered a surge in Black Lives Matter protests around the world; the COVID-19 pandemic; and in the UK the divisiveness of Brexit and the eruption of war in Ukraine.These events have filled the media with spectacles which demand our attention.They highlight steep gradients of social inequality, racism and civil unrest, the ‘gothic’2 horror of terrorism and biogenetic mutations, and political crises with increased risk of global warfare. Zizek, in typical polemicist form, refers to the ‘four horsemen of the apocalypse’, comprising: Ecology (impending ecological catastrophes), Economy (the global financial meltdown), Biology (the biogenetic revolution and its impact on human identity), and Society (social divisions leading to the explosion of protest and revolutions worldwide) (Zizek 2011; Popova 2011). But it is how these processes are represented which lifts them away from abstraction into reality. The clamour and turmoil of global events is reduced to ‘ideology’, ‘to the simplified “essence” that conveniently forgets the “background noise” which provides the density of its actual meaning. Such an erasure … is the very core of utopian dreaming’ (Zizek 2011: 6). It is significant that this reduction to essence is frequently assisted by imagery, the creation of carefully choreographed and mediated spectacles. While the earliest cave paintings demonstrate that visual representations are as old as human culture itself, it is language which has developed as an ‘essentially perfect’ (Sapir 1966: 1) means of communication in every society. We believe in language; it is a bond which unites cultures, delineates relations of belonging, identity and difference. Language is the core of culture, which we are most motivated to learn, enabling relative precision in the description of complex concepts, emotions and other internal states. Pictures, on the other hand, are less reliable as vehicles for conveying simple messages; a painting can, of course, incorporate conventional codes and symbols, but a clear ‘reading’ of the combination of elements and how they are intended by the artist may be difficult to assess and open to multiple interpretations. Similarly, while the photographic image is ‘indexical’, that is, a sign which is directly connected to that which it portrays, rather than one where the interpretation is based on arbitrary conventions (like the ‘?’ question mark or the other linguistic signs which have no natural relationship to the things they denote), the meaning we deduce from such an image is still dependent on knowledge, experience and position, hence far from transparent. Perhaps it is not surprising, therefore, that social sciences tended to view visual attributes of social life as problematic and open to misrecognition, and when used this was often as an addendum to verbal discussion and traditional language-based methods of research. Marcus Banks suggests: ‘the study and use of visual images is only of use within broader

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Introduction 3 sociological research enterprises, rather than as ends in themselves’ (Banks 2001: 178). Research is often enhanced by the inclusion of visual material, which can provide a vivid context, allowing a more detailed understanding of everyday social life. Key issues and questions in sociology and anthropology can be examined in a manner which adds intimate and particular detail to the exploration of social actions which may be habitual and commonplace, and hence easily overlooked. However, the growing centrality of the visual suggests that the visual is a valid object of research in its own right. This focus on visual aspects is considered by some theorists (Mirzoeff 2011; Jenks 1995; Mitchell 1994) to be indicative of a markedly ‘visual turn’ which has come to characterise the era. This text critically engages with the visual elements of social phenomena as a valuable resource not only for supplementing the traditional tools of qualitative methods, but also as indicative of the character of the increasingly visual nature of our everyday lives. It is recognised that there are constant disagreements and divisions between approaches to the visual in research practices; some of these trends will be discussed in the following chapters. Nevertheless, despite the enigmatic character of the image and the suspicions some have of visual methods, the specificity of visual evidence has been remarked upon recently by many; without the video evidence of Darnella Frazier, which captured George Floyd being asphyxiated by Derek Chauvin, it is highly unlikely that Chauvin would have been convicted of murder.

Structure of the Book The aim of this text is to demonstrate how visual resources can not only reveal the less obvious elements of social life, but also encourage a more careful look at the everyday, questioning the nature of the social reality we live in and the conditions which shape our seeing. There are already several books which might serve as comprehensive guides to the terrain of visual research; among the best are works by Gillian Rose (2016), Jon Prosser (1998), Marcus Banks (2015), Sarah Pink (2007) and Doug Harper (2012). By contrast, this book focuses on selected examples which allow discussion of the processes and problems inherent in using and developing visual research as a practice. The chapters deal with reflections on the process of research and the nature of imagery, drawing from several pieces of action research (some are outlined below). There are some observations and tentative precepts based on exploratory samples from recent fieldwork experiences. The aim is to explore critical arguments and research processes; to examine how the complex weave of visual elements in social life link to meaning, power and social divisions. Part II offers four essays about practice from innovative visual researchers, giving insight into the well-honed skills of four unique ‘visualistas’.

Part I Chapter 1 considers some different aspects of visual phenomena, airing some preliminary theoretical concepts about the nature of seeing and the implicit challenges of using visual sources as evidence. Chapter 2 explores the potential uses of visual methods within a qualitative research framework, learning from reflexivity and issues of ethical practice to achieve depth and validity. Chapters 3 and 4 highlight two important and dynamic

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4 Introduction areas of social life: respectively, constructions of ‘place’ and social identities. In each case, facets of these areas of enquiry are illustrated through actual research samples, offering a suite of ideas and approaches which will inspire researchers in the field, and foreground the choices and analysis at different moments in research. Chapter 5 highlights approaches to critical analysis, demonstrating examples of semiotic and discourse analyses using case examples already introduced. There are also examples of digitally assisted approaches and content analysis. Analysis does not begin only after the data has been collected, it is implicit in the rationale and aims of the research and often already visible in the construction of researcher-produced images and video pieces. I have used examples from several pieces of my own visual-based case study research with which I have been involved over the years – these include: (2018) with Andrew Cox, ‘Into the Divide: Community Identities and theVisualisation of Place’, Visual Studies,Vol. 32, Issue 2, 2017, pp. 97–110. Taylor & Francis. (2012) ‘Looking for Africville: Complementary Visual Constructions of a Contended Space’, Sociological Research Online, Special Visual Methods edition, ed. Ross Coomber and Gayle Letherby, February 2012. www.socresonline.org.uk/17/1/6.html (2009) ‘Drifting Visions and Dialectical Images: Everyday Paradoxes in a Northern City’, Illumina, Issue 3, December 2009, e-journal, Edith Cowan University. Editor: Dr Mardie O’Sullivan. (2006) ‘Framing the Fringe Dwellers: Visual Methods for Research and Teaching Race and Ethnicity: A Sample Case Study’, in Max Farrar and Malcolm Todd (eds), Teaching Race in Social Sciences – New Contexts, New Approaches, C-SAP Monograph, Birmingham, 2006. These are cited not as exemplars (they have weaknesses and, in some cases, less than professional audio-visual results), but are intended to demonstrate the gradual development of a more critical visual approach; a ‘sociologically adapted eye’ (although this might sound like disciplinary blinkers!). The initial reason for turning to video was to be able to bring vivid case material into teaching as inspiration for both subject knowledge and research techniques and theoretical understanding of complex issues. In Part II of the book, four very different and original visual researchers give a brief account of their own research journeys.

Part II – Practitioner Essays Having experienced the variety of new interdisciplinary visual research at local and international conferences since 2006, I wanted to include space in this book to give a sense of the dynamism and creativity of visual research. Therefore, I approached four innovative researchers from across the social science disciplines to give a short account of the philosophies and purposes behind their practices with reflections on specific projects they have undertaken. The work ranges through sociological and cultural studies to anthropology, as well as specific discussion of hermeneutics of the visual, film genres, narrative structures and of course photographic aesthetics and practice.

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Introduction 5

Panizza Allmark – Edith Cowan University, Western Australia: Framing a Photographie Féminine: Photography of the City A feminist approach to street photography is examined in Panizza Allmark’s photographie féminine; the approach drawing upon écriture feminine, women’s writing which highlights the significance of reflexivity. Photographie féminine is a dynamic visual response that seeks to challenge dominant representation by framing disparate elements of social realities through the use of dialectical images. The tactical techniques attempt to critique patriarchal constructs and the gendering of space. It involves a queering of space and exposes the heteronormative aspects of representation of gender in the city. The approach uses tactics of subversion to reveal deeper meanings hidden in plain sight.

Sarah Atkinson – University of Brighton: Mixing Mediums and Methods: Practice-Led Research into Interactive Screen-Based Production and Reception This essay gives insight into the production of an innovative interactive film. Crossed Lines (Dir. Sarah Atkinson) is an original fictional interactive film amalgamating multi-linear plots, a multi-screen viewing environment, an interactive interface and an interactive story navigation form. It has been exhibited at the Electronic Literature Organisation conference at the Washington State University, US; the Digital Interactive Media in Arts and Entertainment conference arts show in Athens; the Interrupt arts show in Providence, US; the Euro ITV arts show in Belgium; and the International Digital Interactive Storytelling conference in Portugal. This essay reflects upon the creative processes of devising, scripting, directing and authoring the interactive film installation in which the viewer is given control over the flow, pace and ordering of the video-based narratives. The entire production process from script-writing to the final installation took place over a four-year period and involved nine principal cast members, numerous crew personnel, technicians, programmers, various cameras, audio-recording equipment, cutting-edge computer processors, reams of cable and a precariously soldered telephone.The complexities of undertaking and delivering such a project are reflected upon and discussed within this essay from the first-person perspective of the artist herself.

Roger Brown: Photography as Process, Documentary Photographing as Discourse This essay concentrates on two key perspectives about photography: as a method in a complex of sociological methodology, and as a text to be variously evaluated, analysed and de-coded (Banks 2007; Rose 2007). Both views rest on the assumption that photographs offer a representation of knowledge and a correspondence to an empirical truth. Rarely is the making of photography discussed, yet there is much to be learnt from doing so (Becker 2004; Banks, 2007).This article focuses on the process of making documentary photographs of sociological value; on what Maynard refers to as the process of photographing and thinking through photography and Rorty as edification (Maynard 2000; Rorty 2009). Referring back to Szarkowski and his five-fold aesthetic of photography, I shall argue that photographing is a process of thoughtful and ethical social interaction and hermeneutic whose value combines observation and aesthetics, or as Ruskin put it many years ago, ‘a mutual dependency on Form and Mental Expression’ (Ricoeur 1991; Ruskin 1853).

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6 Introduction

Roger Canals: Research as an Eclectic Assemblage: Notes on a Visual Ethnography of the Cult of María Lionza (Venezuela, Barcelona, and the Internet) In this text, I discuss the potentialities of conceiving the multiplicity of outcomes stemming from an ethnographic research based on visual methods as an eclectic assemblage in which each ‘result’ is critically connected to the others. I argue that this approach, close to the principles of the so-called multimodal turn, permits to strengthen the epistemological potentialities of texts, films, photographs or other modes of representation. It also allows us to reach different audiences, along the lines of a public and engaged social science. As an example, I comment on my own experience on the study of the cult of María Lionza, a religious practice native from Venezuela. During fifteen years I have conducted research on the role of images and visual creativity within this cult. This research has taken place in Latin America, Europe and on the Internet and has led to texts, films, websites, and an exhibition (see www.va-marialionza.com).

Notes 1 Term used by Eric Margolis to address the collected ranks of visual researchers at the International Visual Sociological Association conference in 2006 in Urbino. 2 The criminologist Claire Valier uses the term ‘gothic’ (2002, 2004) to signify the nature of risks that transcend the local and threaten terror in the most mundane settings.These ‘inner terrorists’ cannot be contained and give rise to anxieties about those who appear unremarkably ordinary but harbour malign intent.

References Atkinson, P. and Silverman, D. (1997) ‘Kundera’s Immortality: the interview society and the invention of the self ’, Qualitative Inquiry, 3(3): 304–25. Banks, M. (2001) Visual Methods in Social Research, London: Sage. Banks, M. (2015) Visual Methods in Social Research, 2nd edn, London: Sage. Harper, D. (2012) Visual Sociology, New York: Routledge. Jenks, C. (ed.) (1995) Visual Culture, London: Routledge. Mead, M. (1995) ‘Visual anthropology in a discipline of words’, in P. Hockings (ed.) Principles of Visual Anthroplogy, 3rd edn, Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Mitchell, W.J.T. (1994) Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Newby, G. (2021) ‘From Big Brother to Potus – how reality TV changed history and society’, From Fact to Fiction, BBC Radio 4. Online. Pink, S. (2007) Doing Visual Ethnography, London: Sage. Popova, M. (2011) ‘Slavoj Žižek’s Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in One Minute’, The Marginalian. Online. www.themarginalian.org/2011/07/01/slavoj-zizek-living-in-the-end-times/ Prosser, J.D. (1998) Image-Based Research:A Sourcebook for Qualitative Researchers, London: Falmer Press. Ricoeur, P. (1991/2007) From Text to Action: Essays in Hermeneutics II, Evanston: North Western University Press. Rose, G. (2016) Visual Methodologies, 4th edn, London: Sage. Ruskin, J. (1853) ‘The nature of the gothic’. Essay first published in The Stones of Venice, vol. 2, 1853. Zizek, S. (2011) Living in the End Times, London:Verso.

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Part I

Visual Research and Social Realities

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Visualising Social Life

An Evolving Visual Culture In this chapter the problems and potentiality of images are examined, paving the way for an understanding of how visual methods can be employed to reveal many aspects of social life.There is discussion of the swift changes in culture brought about by burgeoning social movements, new digital technologies, and the implications for evolving cultural imaginaries and social identities. The focus here is particularly on the qualitative uses of visual material in research, and the interdisciplinary and multimodal nature of visual research straddling disciplines: anthropology, sociology and cultural studies, history, social geography, and the arts (amongst others). This chapter discusses the power of the image, emphasising its value as both complementary to more traditional modes of research, and as a field of study in its own right. The world around us is going through a time of unprecedented change. As well as a background of calamitous and unprecedented global risks, there are changes to the ways in which we see and understand what’s out there. It has been suggested that we are living in a visually saturated culture (Gombrich 1996; Mirzeoff 1999), that late modernity has undergone a ‘visual turn’ towards an increasingly ‘ocularcentric’ culture (Jay 1994; Jenks 1995; Mitchell 1994) and that we are entering ‘a phase of growing image-centricity’ (Stöckl, Pflaeging and Caple 2020). There have been changes in the form and fluidity of new media technologies, permitting a succession of new forms of visual experience. The fact that many millions are now simultaneously linked up to forms of social media in vast global matrices accelerates what Thompson has described as a ‘new visibility’, ‘a new political theatre played out in the world of the media, where spatial distance is irrelevant, communication instantaneous’ (Thompson 2005: 32). This plasticity of digital communications allows the simultaneous experience of visual, audio and verbal data as fluid and easily manipulated: cloud-based software, embedded video or audio in lecture slides, lectures pre-recorded and streamed by students to keep pace with their learning, and over the course of the, so far ongoing, COVID-19 pandemic years, the reliance on Zoom and virtual conference spaces, have all become part of the public and academic lexicon. Indeed the pandemic was seen as a possible catalyst for ‘digital transition’ and for closing the ‘digital divide’, yet also seems to have exacerbated existing inequalities. Forces which might connect the world, such as global risks and the fragility of existence, are also catalysts for division and resistance as much as homogeneity, or some form of cultural imperialism. There appears to be a two-way ripple effect, entailing movement from the centre to periphery, as possibilities for new cultural identities are introduced to DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-3

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10 Visual Research and Social Realities cultures on the periphery (via electronic images and affluent tourism); but at the same time the periphery moves to the centre; for example, the flow of migration and signs of more hybridity and intersectional identities forming. The focus on ‘visual culture’ as a viable area of study acknowledges the reality of living in a world of cross-mediation. Our experience of culturally meaningful visual content, fluid multiple forms, and codes which migrate from one form to another, brings about profound and dynamic changes to human social systems, challenging rigid categories of class, gender, sexuality, race and ethnicity. These changes have accelerated the study and critical analyses of visual social phenomena. To begin to understand these claims about an evolving visual culture, it is useful to consider some concepts which allow an understanding of the vast realm of the digital and how social meanings are networked and negotiated. Mass societies have now come to rely on the electronic broadcast media as the centrifugal force of democracy. This new public sphere can be regarded as the ‘mediasphere’ – a critical ‘culturescape’ in which meanings flow through various channels of human and technologically enhanced modes of communication (Lewis 2007; Lewis and Lewis 2006). Hartley (2002) defined the ‘mediasphere’ as the total output of the media within which the smaller public sphere is located. However, the mediasphere today could be argued to have subsumed much of the public sphere, becoming ‘the conflux of macro and micro processes of communication and social engagement’ (Lewis 2007: 5). In turn, there is constant movement of communication between the mediasphere and the much broader matrix of all cultural meanings (Lotman’s ‘semiosphere’ conceived as the total universe of culture, language and text). If we interpret Lotman’s idea of semiosphere (Lotman 2005) as the total of a community’s semiotic modes, genre repertoires and media, we might safely argue that contemporary communication has been going through a phase of growing imagecentricity (Stöckl, Caple and Pflaeging 2020). This is reflected in the common-sense observation that the number of images in popular mass and social media has dramatically increased (52 mill. images per day in Instagram, cf. Caple 2019: 428). (Stöckl 2020) These models are useful to account for the way in which communications from within the public sphere are mediated as meanings vacillate between them, leading to the active reconfiguration of written, textual and visual systems. It is clearly the case that the totality of the semiosphere,1 that reservoir of all possible semiotic modes available to a community, will reflect the explosion of images resulting from mass use of social media, ‘for example records of 52 million per day in Instagram alone’ (Caple 2019: 428). However, the question of whether this ‘mudslide’ of imagery means we have become an ‘imagecentric’ culture is not simply about the quantum of images; it would depend on how we understand this exposure to images. Stöckl (2020) makes the point that images must be seen in their multimodal relationship to text rather than in isolation. A concept of imagecentricity suggests that they have gained dominance over text on the page or screen. Certainly, there has been a shift towards making images do more work across a range of genres. The problem with the discussion of abstract networks is that they may fail to account for the granular inequalities that exist in how people access and make sense of circulating imagery and other message forms. There is stratified access to information based on affluence, class and education as well as the targeting by corporate media. How we

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Visualising Social Life 11 perceive images, which may seem transparent, is actually a process already filtered through pre-existing social relationships to knowledge, access to cultural capital and personal and political viewpoints. Diagram 1.1 is an attempt to consider the processes and filters which feed into the act of seeing. The semiosphere is pictured as a reservoir of potential meanings, tropes, and the multimodal relationship between signs is implicit here, hence Stöckl, Caple et al.’s observation that changes here will inevitably form the reservoir from which mediasphere

Semiosphere Mediasphere

Cultural imaginary 2

Cultural imaginary 1

Available Discourse 6

Available Discourse 5

Available Discourse 4

Available Discourse 3

Available Discourse 2

Available Discourse 1

Social group 2

Social group 1

Filters ‘Scopic regime’, technology Identity: M/F, ethnicity, region, family, cultural, social, physical, economic capital, context: time & place variables Reading strategies: Dominant, Negotiated, Oppositional?

ANTICIPATION fulfilled or thwarted?

‘Seeing’ Diagram 1.1 The act of seeing: resources, processes and restraints

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12 Visual Research and Social Realities conventions of image use and meanings will be continuously added, adapted and changed depending on ‘readership’ patterns, trends in consumption, and the political, social and moral order. In the overlapping socio-cultural spheres, changing class identities shaped by broad discursive structures limit how we understand and communicate about phenomena in the public sphere. Of course, any attempt at linear position of these spheres is impossible in reality. The ‘cultural imaginary’2 is a concept for how the shared sense of ‘nation as community’ produces and engages with culture. These are ill-defined forms of influence but visible from time to time when the national identity is foregrounded. For example, Frank’s (2017: 16) examination of the cultural imaginary of terrorism showed that public responses to acts of terror were linked with media-based public discourse as well as literary and cinematic narratives. Foucault stressed there is always resistance and rupture to these broad social discourses which change and evolve over time. I have used the term ‘Available Discourses’3 (see Muecke 1982) to suggest that only some discourses are dominant or foregrounded, and hence ways of speaking and thinking are generally narrowed. It is a form of ‘agenda setting’ which, as Muecke shows, reduces how some people can be spoken of or portrayed. Applebaum captures this when she says: Discourses transmit power because they limit who people can be and what can be thought … Power works through us and in invisible ways because discourses work through normalization to mask power relations operating in society. (Applebaum 2010: 99) An unseen, dialectical process is in operation. The filters of the media (as Herman and Chomsky’s (1988) influential ‘propaganda model’ suggests, leave us with a narrowed vision of the world, a restricted bandwidth – sometimes referred to as the ‘Overton Window’ (what appears to be a spectrum of opinions but in fact is most likely to exclude certain views and values). In the ‘propaganda model’ the dominant values are those of the corporations, advertisers and products. Media are market driven, they operate to maximise profits, and this also means, as Chomsky expressed it, ‘they’ll work to exclude or marginalize or eliminate dissenting voices or alternative perspectives and so on because they’re dysfunctional, they’re dysfunctional to the institution itself ’ (1992). However, media aside, in our everyday exchanges, we are not driven entirely by economic vagaries of the market place; but there are other limitations, for example there is ‘the veil of familiarity and selfevidence that surrounds the act of seeing’ (Mitchell 2005: 337). As well as expectations of shared identity – gender, ethnicity, class – there are more individual characteristics of identity; all influence the fine grain of our perception. Different social enclaves have different but overlapping ‘habitus’4 (they are shaped by the material conditions they have grown up in) which also reflect consumption practices (see e.g. Bourdieu 1986, and his discussion of taste and class groups), media habits and aesthetic judgements. While much of this relates to the boundaries of class, patterns of inequality, access to latest technologies and ideas about status and social activities, these are dynamic and far from monolithic and cut across by different ethnicities and genders. Then, in terms of individual perception, each person has a unique set of parameters, and as Stuart Hall and others have argued, no two individuals will ‘read’ signs the same way. If a message reaches them from the media it will depend on their subject position as to which ‘reading strategy’ they employ to make sense of the story. As Greenwald (2014: 471) states, ‘The perceptions and pronouncements of human beings are inherently subjective.

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Visualising Social Life 13 Every news article is the product of all sorts of highly subjective cultural, nationalistic, and political assumptions. And all journalism serves one faction’s interests or another.’ Considering these filters, it’s clear that the way images are produced and the way they are ‘read’ are subjective processes dependent on many factors. Similarly, all identity can be claimed to take place within the realm of representation (see e.g. Hall 1990) and equally depends on time, place and relative subject position. As a final comment on the precursors to ‘seeing’, I have included the concept of ‘anticipation’, suggesting that we actively monitor the world and are continually modelling and predicting what we will see next. Madary (2016) argues that visual perception is an ongoing process of anticipation and fulfilment. This suggests that our existing knowledge directs how and what we see, and is constantly adjusted as more sensory information becomes available. As Neil Mehta (2019: 1) says of Madary’s conception: [it] posits visual contents that are not just about how the objects of vision are right now, but also about how these objects will (appear to) be as the perceiver visually explores them from different perspectives. As time passes, these future-tensed visual contents will normally end up either being fulfilled or being thwarted. Thus, how we see is not simply a naïve sensory, moment to moment, perception, but a cascade of impressions against expectations and feedback loops, a series of time-based unfolding adjustments interpreted in the nested spheres of the resources we are operating within. In this process, ‘seeing’, although it appears to happen instantaneously, also unfolds over time; it is a process in which there are expectations which may be met or frustrated. These processes suggest that the manner in which we observe the world around us (and arguably, that which we take to be ‘real’) is therefore shaped by selective cultural values and, hence, is not at all the same as what can be argued to be objectively ‘real’. ‘The ‘real’ cannot be observed and exists independently to human perceptions, theories, and constructions. Hence, for researchers, there is a problem if it is assumed that the reality or truth of a situation is the same as the constructions we observe. This is the ‘epistemic fallacy’, that is reducing what we say is ‘real’ or exists (ontological statements) to what we can know or understand about the ‘real’ (epistemological statements). The ‘real’ is the unobservable mechanisms that cause events. Epistemology and ontology are separate. (University of Warwick 2020) These are the core elements in a critical realist approach to research which distinguishes between the ‘real’ world and the observable world. This model is a speculative attempt to flag up some issues about the way visual culture is shaped and it is not intended as definitive of these processes, but, rather envisages the successive cultural influences selectively drawn from the universe of signs in the semiosphere, and the media sphere, and how existing systems of value and meaning (collective and individual) frame seeing, determining how individuals interpret the multimodal signs they are confronted with.This diagram shows internal processes, these spheres are really part of the internal cultural make-up of the individual who is seeing and interpreting the world. There does seem to be a broad consensus that vision is a faculty which is cultivated and has changed and evolved historically. In Mitchell’s words, vision

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14 Visual Research and Social Realities might have a history related in some yet-to-be-determined way with the history of arts, technologies, media and social practices of display and spectatorship: and (finally) that it is deeply involved with the human societies, with the ethics and politics, aesthetics and epistemology of seeing and being seen. (2005: 337–8)

Urban Visions It is important to recognise some of the philosophical issues early on, as research which strives to understand complex social issues must go beyond superficial description. To demonstrate these processes and the implicit differences in different individuals’ perception of images, consider the analysis of an image which was posted on a billboard over twenty years ago on the outskirts of the city of Sheffield (Figure 1.1). Reflect on the image below before you read the description of it. What is your immediate reaction? What does it mean? Why is it placed here? What is its intention? Are any of the shaping mechanisms in the model obviously at play in the seeing of it? This poster, which was part of a Commission for Racial Equality campaign in the late 1990s, demonstrates some of the inherent problems in discussion of the image. First, consider the semiotic relationships of the signs within this poster. An image operates quite differently from words in a language. It has content – even a rather abstract image, like this face, has an immediate reality more tangible than the words beside it. The fact of the concreteness of the image, its immediate sensual reality, means that its expression will not make a full transition from objecthood to the meta-level of

Figure 1.1 Commission for Racial Equality poster, ‘Scared?’, 1999, Sheffield Source: Also in Spencer 2014: 27.

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Visualising Social Life 15 language. By contrast the word ‘SCARED?’ is part of a system which has an entirely arbitrary relationship to that which it denotes. All language operates at this level (with the exception of onomatopoeic words like cuckoo, woof, etc.). A further example of this elementary truth about the difference between language and image can be seen in the use of colour. The colour of the word ‘SCARED?’ (deep red in the original) affects us immediately (although its meaning in this context is ambiguous), but how we understand redness derives from a series of deep-seated cultural associations (blood, flags, stoplights, warning signs) and conventional codes that might be related to the colour (heat, danger, urgency, imminence), compounded and co-related to the semantics of the word and the holistic interpretation of all of the elements in the billboard poster. The problem is that we see the photographic image as seductively ‘real’. Although the image thus created is to some degree an accurate and explicit record of the world, the seductive realism of photography has long been associated with the potential for manipulation and propagandist purposes.This has arguably reached a new peak with the so-called ‘digital revolution’, permitting ever more potential for subtle manipulation of the image, and the enormous proliferation of images which seem to erode the value and craft of the traditional photographer. Secondly, whatever the production process, the image is always potentially polysemic, and hence the suggestion that the image is a direct emanation of ‘the real’ ignores the question of multiple interpretations and different reading positions. These will certainly depend on the individual subject position, social location and so on. As Diagram1.1 suggests, how one perceives is the result of a complex matrix of dominant discursive structures, and cultural expectations which position identity. One’s gender, ethnicity, class and age are all differences which may well suggest different interpretations for this poster. These issues will be addressed in several places in this book, but the problem of navigating these confounding currents should not be an obstacle to the enormous research value of visual representation. As Luc Pauwels warns: ‘many researchers (of both ends of the spectrum) are overlooking the vast expressive potential of visual representations that opens up the way to scholarly argumentation and new avenues of expressing the unspeakable and unquantifiable’ (2010: 572–3). Given the lingering anxieties about the status of representation, perhaps it is not surprising that most social research has seen visual attributes of social life as less reliable, harder to categorise or generalise, and if used likely to be an addendum to the verbal discussion and traditional language-based methods of research. While images are not elements in an arbitrary code, neither are they tied to a simple one-to-one relationship with some referent in the real world. The interpretation of images like the face in Figure 1.1 is based upon the cultural knowledge a viewer may have access to. The elements which compose the poster are manipulated to achieve certain effects, but, as in the case of this poster, there is always a possibility that the choices made will not have the intended resonance or nuances of meaning with its target audience. This example demonstrates that there are often mismatches in the codes used and unrealistic expectations that the message will be interpreted and responded to in the manner anticipated. So, it is possible to approach the understanding of the image and the act of seeing from several directions. The components of the actual image (in this case a poster) can be broken down semiotically to show the relationship between individual codes of which it is composed: colour, wording, intertextual associations and links encoded into the image, etc. Then there are the specific elements in relation to the viewer and the ‘cultural

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16 Visual Research and Social Realities imaginary’ through which they are likely to interpret the image, and their own immediate circumstances, identity, attitudes and beliefs. It is recognised that there are ‘hard-wired’ pre-linguistic, pre-social elements of seeing, which may act on our emotions. In the case of the poster (Figure 1.1), it could be argued that the authors of the image deliberately tried to evoke a sense of menace by choosing a starkly lit black face juxtaposed with a bold red word – ‘SCARED?’ – giving the prompt to encourage an alienated reading of this as a face without a biography, suggesting the image is an icon standing for ‘blackness’. The error of our decoding is made apparent in the much smaller white lettering: ‘YOU SHOULD BE. HE’S A DENTIST’ – which makes ‘him’ at once a specific person again. Looking at these elements in turn sheds light on how images and ways of seeing circulate to make sense of social life and our own identities. A matrix of social processes operates to convey dominant values reproducing and regulating meaning. The semiosphere, that buzzing profusion of potential meanings, is part of the ‘internal / external dialectic’ (Jenkins 2004: 18–26), we are constantly monitoring the universe of cultural signs. Sometimes, these are obvious; indices of social division, privilege and inequality, wealth and poverty. At specific times the social and political meanings filter through; everyday signs pop up in the streets of the towns where we live. Look at the three images below. What do they say to you and why? What types of knowledge and understanding might a viewer possess (or lack) which would help understand them? For example, Figure 1.2, a picture taken in November 2017. Amongst the stock in trade of a local party shop – zombie makeup, vampire fangs, selection of masks – was a figure in hi vis jacket reading DETOUR with a Teresa May (British prime minister 2016–19) mask; nearby hung the EU flag, beneath the figure, what appeared to be a rather rude novelty item – ‘Poop Face Big Mascot Head’. This outward-facing display could be a wry comment on the unfolding and agonising movement towards the Brexit5 decision. This interpretation was, of course, modified by the context: the fractured progress towards Brexit after the 2016 referendum, and May’s embarrassing losses in the June election which, instead of the landslide anticipated, saw major gains for Labour. May was left at the helm of a hung parliament. So, a window display captures the wearisome drama of the Brexit débâcle with a touch of irreverence suited to a party and joke shop which was largely popular with students. The street art pictured in Figure 1.3 is entitled ‘Not One More Death’, and memorialises three children who were killed by cars along 3rd Avenue in Brooklyn. In the mural, an unspecified ethereal figure is holding a large octagonal road sign which reads, ‘Not One More Death’. I stopped and took this image across the road from the hostel where I was staying.The woman in the picture stopped and scrutinised the image in a way that seemed typical of a New Yorker. Perhaps she is reading the writing which says: 26 pedestrians were killed by cars on 3rd and 4th Avenues in Brooklyn Between 1995 and 2012. Every neighborhood deserves safe and liveable streets. A local website describes the mural as a valuable collaboration to save lives: The combined efforts of the community organizing campaign led to a watershed dedication ceremony in August 2007. Artists, activists, politicians, victims’ relatives,

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Visualising Social Life 17

Figure 1.2 Window display, Broomhill Party Shop, Sheffield

Figure 1.3 Brooklyn (2010), a woman considers a mural, 3rd Avenue

Figure 1.4 Graffiti on the roof of the derelict Hallam Towers Hotel in Sheffield (now demolished), 2012. Phlegm skull balloons

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18 Visual Research and Social Realities and a New York City Department of Transportation representative all took to the podium under the mural to proclaim Not One More Death. This collaboration was a major accomplishment for Transportation Alternatives and neighborhood activists and reinforced the power of art as a tool for social change. (Groundswell 2021) Finally, to capture an image of Figure 1.4, we crawled through the control room housing the turbine for the air conditioning and out onto the roof. Awestruck by Phlegm’s work, we were faced with a panoply of calavera balloons festooning a whole wall, like a dark requiem for the building. Strung through the eye sockets, the smiling skulls were buoyed up between silver-grey balloons, the top one of which was painted on a satellite dish; like piñata for the day of the dead – it seemed very fitting for this doomed structure – and apart from this picture there may be no other record of these images now. The skull can serve as a memento mori, full of irony on the roof of this gutted building, a reminder that permanency is an illusion; the building was demolished in autumn 2017.

The Cultural Imaginary These images are examples of the manner in which social meanings are circulated, negotiated, challenged (sometimes parodied or ridiculed) and replicated. While the meaning of murals or window displays may seem trivial and largely disregarded, they, like our sense of identity, are always expressed within, and learned through, the discourses of our culture. The concept of a cultural imaginary arises from the collective sense of a people, a nation, a culture bound together (however loosely and across all manner of disparities and contradictions) by some sense of shared cultural understanding and values. Benedict Anderson (1983) famously describes a nation as an ‘imagined community’; it is imagined because most members of a community have only tenuous connections with all the other members and will never meet, hear or converse with them. However, we carry in our minds the image of what is shared, of some form of communion.The cultural imaginary is the accretion of meanings and the constellation of cultural symbols: ‘those vast networks of interlinking discursive themes, images, motifs and narrative forms that are publicly available within a culture at any one time, and articulate its psychic and social dimensions’ (Dawson 1994: 48). Linking cultural constructions, including: significant others, objects and things in everyday life, our sense of place and perhaps especially ideas of difference and otherness (‘theydom’ as opposed to ‘wedom’ (see Hartley 1992: 206). It also ‘refers to the intersections of fantasy images and discursive forms in which cultural communities mirror and articulate themselves, and which act as points of reference for their collective identity formations’ (Lykke 2000). The situation we find ourselves in today would have seemed unthinkable even a few years ago.Yet the conditions which have allowed groups to be singled out and scapegoated, the abandoning of reasoned analyses, the ability to deflect facts as partisan pleading or ‘fake news’, have been steadily building for many years. Given the worrying global view and the global nature of our dilemmas, environmental degradation, climate disaster, global pandemic, and increasing social divisions within the wealthiest nations and fortress-like attitudes of those nations towards the desperate migration from the impoverished nations, the notion that we are seeing the world accurately is to say the least questionable.The tacit hegemonic use of images to support nationalist chauvinism and denial of these global risks is becoming all too commonplace.

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Is Seeing Believing? Jenks argues that ‘looking, seeing and knowing have become perilously intertwined’, rendering our world as primarily a ‘seen’ phenomenon (1995: 2). But there are examples where overt visual signs are ignored in favour of other, social contextual factors which determine our interpretation of a situation. A classic example of not believing one’s eyes is the experiment of Solomon Asch (1951, 1955) (see Figure 1.5), in which an experimenter enlisted the help of a group as confederates to agree that a line on a card (below left) was the same length as line ‘B’ on the comparison card (below right). Then a ‘naïve’ subject joined the group to take part in what was said to be a ‘vision test’. Each member of the group was asked whether the line on the left corresponded most closely to line A, B or C, and to state their answer aloud. Each of the group, in turn, as instructed, gave the answer as ‘B’. One would assume that given the very obvious evidence of their own eyes most individuals would resist the pressure of conformity; however, when faced with the unanimously incorrect answer from each of the group members, 75 per cent of the naïve participants conformed, giving the ‘wrong’ answer to at least one question – they appeared not to believe their eyes. On the other hand, perhaps, it should not be surprising that shared values, beliefs and perceptions are so powerfully persuasive, overriding individual perception and rationality. Seeing is not a biological process but a socially and culturally learnt one; group conformity has survival value and verbal assurances are powerful. We believe in language; language can unite or exclude and, in many situations, people see what is socially expedient and turn a ‘blind eye’ to things which are less socially acceptable. Images operate at the most basic level of human perception, and yet there is still a great deal we do not understand about the complex process of recognition and attribution of meaning. The idea that the picture both in our heads and the representations of photography or painting, for example, can somehow transfix and influence us like false idols which need to be smashed is reflected in Wittgenstein’s ambivalent if not iconophobic comment: ‘A picture held us captive. And we could not get outside of it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat itself to us inexorably’ (Wittgenstein 1976: 48; Mitchell 1994: 12).

Figure 1.5 Image based on the cards used in the Asch conformity experiments

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20 Visual Research and Social Realities Philosophical concerns have centred on the relationship between the linguistic and pictorial, and in particular attacking the image as idolatry, false consciousness or a form of fantasy. Indeed, a strong thread in the understanding of visual culture is one of cultural pessimism that conceives of mass culture as passively in thrall to mass media spectacles; celebrity, sport and even warfare help to maintain a collective social order. It will become apparent that the ability of images to convince and affirm is not one which can be easily generalised.

Images as Evidence: Seen and Unseen Historically, photographs have been an indispensable tool of rationalisation, providing the reductive realism behind the bureaucratic ordering of society and the institutions of social control: family, school, criminal justice and medical system. Through constellations of institutions everyday life is regulated and bodies are trained and rendered docile through a ‘micro physics of power’ (Foucault 1977: 26). Marxist critic John Tagg argues that photography became a central technique in this regulatory system: The bodies – workers, vagrants, criminals, patients, the insane, the poor, the colonised races – are taken one by one: isolated in a shallow, contained space; turned full face and subjected to an unreturnable gaze; illuminated, focused, measured, numbered and named; forced to yield to the minutest scrutiny of gestures and features. Each device is the trace of the wordless power, replicated in countless images, whenever the photographer prepares an exposure, in police cell, prison, mission house, hospital, asylum or school. (2003: 260) Similarly, scientific disciplines used photography as part of their ‘regimes of truth’ to catalogue and verify. Anthropology used visual records of indigenous peoples to represent their everyday lives, sometimes with a focus on a presumed hierarchical ordering of ‘race’. The tendency in some of these early examples is to present photographic imagery as a direct representation of reality. The two examples below illustrate this tendency. In the photograph below of ‘a family of aborigines’(Figure 1.6a), the group is posed and framed as a family group, completely naked and isolated in a desert landscape. The accompanying text stated: ‘Reserves are set aside for them, and they receive Government protection, but whether they will survive is doubtful’ (Wheeler 1935). The drawing (Figure 1.6b) by Landseer shows four portraits of ‘Negroes’ and a skull, demonstrating the essentialist vision which suggests that such varied physical types might all be reducible to a common physiognomy. Ironically, Landseer’s drawing, which shows finely drawn individual features, undermines this essentialised piece of pseudo-science – the features shown are so obviously not reducible to one ‘physical type’. A more critical and conscious perspective began to develop in the later twentieth century, recognising the highly constructed nature of images, and fed by a postmodern awareness of ‘the indignity of speaking for others’ (Gilles Deleuze in Foucault 1977: 209). There is now a multiplicity of voices, not one ethnocentric yardstick along which all others are measured; the distorted hierarchy which had been the legacy of colonialism. Visual representation is always ‘political’, whether intentionally manipulated and censored or through the embedded discourses and conventional codes which constitute and articulate meaning in our social institutions. More directly ‘propagandist’

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Figure 1.6 Visions of ‘race’: (a) J. Hammerton (c. 1932), People of the World (b) Cuvier’s Natural History, illustration by Edward Landseer (c. 1890)

manipulation of imagery, from gilded portraits to ‘spin’ and media management, has been occurring throughout history, from Louis XIV to Tony Blair or Donald Trump. The art of statecraft includes what John Thompson (1994) has called ‘the management of visibility’. Different forms of ‘mediated publicness’ have become increasingly part of the art of politics, ensuring that politicians are kept out of harm’s way, allowing professional ‘flak catchers’ to take the brunt of negative publicity and ‘spin doctors’ to massage the media. It seems clear that the visual evidence of photographs or video is only a partial representation of the reality which we perceive, a reality which is intimately linked to social values and culture, a reality which is collectively constructed.Yet, despite the apparent transparency of photographs, a more rational distance is needed to consider how photographs are used. There is danger in treating imagery (especially photographs and video) as authoritative evidence; as Prosser warns: ‘A photograph does not show how things look. It is an image produced by a mechanical device, at a very specific moment, in a particular context by a person working within a set of personal parameters’ (2006: 2). The meaning of the image, however beguiling the quality, and however it may seem to resist reduction to one or another model of interpretation, is a construction of culture both in its production and interpretation. This seductive authenticity of photographs and video may be persuasive, but the image can be used to privilege different meanings. The famous 1987 ‘Point of View’ advert for the Guardian newspaper nicely illustrates this (Figure 1.7). An event is recorded from several camera angles and at first sight appears to record a skinhead mugging an older, smartly dressed middle-class man carrying a briefcase, until the camera pans out and we see the ‘real’ story, which is the imminent collapse of scaffolding and building materials above the man’s head. From this wider perspective the street thug becomes a hero.Visual messages are potentially open to multiple

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Figure 1.7 Stills from the Guardian ‘Point of View’ advert (1987)

interpretations. In this example the advert manipulates cultural class-based stereotypes of respectability and delinquency to foreground the initial negative interpretation, suggesting that the Guardian gives the ‘bigger picture’. But as photographer Roger Brown reminds us, while photographs can be used to deceive or disguise, at the same time they present ‘truthfulness to the appearance of things’ and ‘explicitness’ (Brown 2009). Yet, whether they are truthful (as, at least at some level, they are), the philosophical and even religious ambivalence about images goes further than merely evaluating and interpreting their meaning.W.J.T. Mitchell sums up the contradictions and debates about the visual: The simplest way to put this is to say that, in an age of “spectacle” (Guy Debord), “surveillance” (Foucault), and all-pervasive image-making, we still do not know exactly what pictures are, what their relation to language is, how they operate on observers and on the world, how their history is to be understood, and what is to be done with or about them. (1994: 13) One aspect of the photograph is that it serves as an ‘extra-somatic’ object; it can be referred to again and again; as we learn more of the context behind a pictured phenomenon we may look again and see the image differently. Mitchell’s (2005) suggestion is that we should think about the image as having a life of its own, its own wants and needs. To understand the import of Mitchell’s argument, it is necessary to take a step back from the usual focus on interpretation. Mitchell is suggesting that images can introduce new forms of value (frames of reference, measures of the real) into the world, ‘contesting our criteria, forcing us to change our minds. Wittgenstein describes this moment of the birth or rebirth of an image as the “dawning of an aspect”, a new way of seeing this as that’ (2005: 92).

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Visualising Social Life 23 Further, he goes on to demonstrate that these ‘living’ images are not necessarily benign. He compares them to intestinal parasites. A good analogy, perhaps, for something that can gnaw away at us inside. ‘They change the way we think and see and dream. They refunction our memories and imaginations, bringing new criteria and new desires into the world’ (ibid.). No wonder, then, that there is a prohibition against image making in several religions: ‘God having made Adam in his image, goes on later to issue a law prohibiting the further creation of images by human hands’ (ibid.). Not only this, but Mitchell alludes to the image being: ‘equally capable of being seen as an evil, corrupting, pathological life-form, one that threatens the life of its creator or host … if we create images to “go before” us, they may be leading us down the primrose path to damnation’ (ibid.: 93). Inevitably thoughts of propagandist imagery come to mind: UK prime minister Boris Johnson driving a forklift truck and smashing through a polystyrene wall bearing the word ‘BREXIT’ in giant letters. Nevertheless, if we can steer clear of this ‘primrose path’, the power of images can be harnessed to further understanding of complex social issues and processes. The image is a form of evidence, a trace of the thing under examination.While critical realists insist what we observe is not the ‘real’, the unseen mechanisms are outside our categories of expression, but images are a manifestation of these big unseen processes and provide a window onto changes which are in progress.

Photographs as ‘Specified Generalisations’ How are photographs able to provide evidence for social science arguments? John Berger and Jean Mohr’s (1975) Seventh Man documents European immigrants through a series of photographs. In his study of their work, Howard Becker argued that such images could provide what he called a ‘specified generalisation’. By which he meant that a general idea can be embodied in images of specific people, places, and events. Photographs, as Berger insists, are unarguably specific. The image is always of someone or something specific, not an abstract entity or a conceptual creation.You cannot photograph capitalism or the Protestant Ethic, only people and things who, it might be argued, exemplify or symbolise or embody these ideas: They mean the images to specify or embody not just an idea, but a connected and coherent argument. The images, then, are evidence. They are specific instances of the general argument. They do not “prove” the argument, as we might expect a scientific proof to do, but rather assure us that the entities of the abstract argument, the generalized story, really exist as living people who come from and work in real places. This is not evidence as “compelling proof,” but rather as what is sometimes called an “existence” proof, a showing that the thing we are talking about is possible. (Becker 2002: 5) This level of existential proof is a valuable thing; here are documents offering examples; signs and symptoms of major social forces; while they do not ‘prove’ the case for the force of social movements or the divisive power of capitalism, they indicate that in this instance, and this, and this, here is how people’s lives are affected. In a similar way the process of global warming can be evidenced by images taken of the rapid loss of vast ice shelves in Antarctica, and is hard to deny. Photographs are visual witnesses to the existence of conditions at a time and place. Here are six images I have used to support and

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24 Visual Research and Social Realities discuss issues of theory; in a similar way to case studies they provide ‘instances in action’ (Adelman et al. 1980: 49). Each of these could be taken as the manifestation of processes at work, we cannot see the dialectic but we can observe the effects at certain times and in certain places. When England is in the World Cup or the Euros, such vendors (Figure 1.8) become suddenly ubiquitous on the streets of English cities. The proud unfurled George Crosses and rampant three lions are suddenly everywhere. This is a specific illustration of the nature of what Billig (1995) called ‘banal nationalism’. The implicit almost subliminal nature of such claims for shared identity. The unfurling of the flags as the tournament begins and often the sad unfurling of flags after the final whistle. I made this diary entry in 2006 after England was knocked out of the World Cup on penalties 3–1 by Portugal. Driving through Glossop in the aftermath of the defeat, hard, hangdog groups of men stripped to the waist outside pubs, one drinker staggering fiercely into the road his stomach so distended it looked like a medicine ball, some others sit on picnic tables with heads in hands, above them, George flags hanging limply in the summer evening. This still (Figure 1.9), from a short video sequence, captured the normality of white public drinking and the acceptance of indigenous people as long as they are ‘cultural producers’. The market stalls are close to Fannie Bay where the annual ‘beer can regatta’, a popular festival, takes place, where teams construct boats and rafts made from hundreds of beer cans and ‘race’ them in the bay. It is a celebration of drinking and reflects white Aussie culture and is often hosted by Territory notables like country and western singer Ted Egan. This still (Figure 1.10) from a video made at One Mile Dam in Darwin (2005) shows a skinny dog eating from a picnic plate as a resident watches. The next instant the woman shouts and drives the dog away. One of the men there says to me: ‘they look after us too’. It is an ‘instance in action’, a meaningful second in a stream of images which shows the mutual support felt by Aboriginal residents for their dogs. Here is one image demonstrating the value of images as ‘parallel arguments’ (Banks 2009) and the complementary yet separate use of images in ethnography. Used alongside interview material from an indigenous college lecturer, this image, like the one above, captured an important moment, shedding light on the very difficult life and living conditions faced by many displaced indigenous people in Australia. They’re a group of people, who for various reasons, aren’t keen to live in houses. A lot of people will say the reason I don’t want to live in state housing or housing commission flat is because I’m not allowed to have my extended family visit or stay with me, I’m not allowed to have my animals, Aboriginal people like to have their dogs, they’re not allowed to have their dogs with them. (Sonia Smallacombe quoted in Spencer 2014: 184) Finally, to extend the example further, the sequence (Figure 1.11) below demonstrates that in research different types of evidence can be clustered and serve to show contentions in a discourse. It also demonstrates the multimodal nature of many images. Here the visual elements play an important role not only affirming but perhaps also contradicting other

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Figure 1.8 The flag vendors, Fargate, Sheffield (2006)

Figure 1.9 Tourists at Darwin’s Mindil beach markets (2005)

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Figure 1.10 A dog eating from a picnic plate at One Mile Dam in Darwin (still from a video made in 2005)

Figure 1.11 Combining different forms of evidence

media messages around the same theme. In addition, the different types of evidence can be seen to operate as linked but separate or ‘parallel arguments’ (Banks 2009). Centre and left are the still from the video and an extract from an interview with Sonia Smallacombe, a lecturer in indigenous studies. These were materials from a small piece of research in Darwin. To the right of the image are other forms of evidence collected later

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Visualising Social Life 27 on. (3) shows an extract from a scholarly paper which further supports the idea that dogs are an integral part of Aboriginal households. Finally, (4), a news story from ABC News network showing dogs at an Aboriginal camp presented in a case of a dog which caused the death of an older man, and reaffirming the traditionally negative white Australian cultural viewpoint about over-close proximity to dogs. The photograph provides immutable evidence to the issue, the everyday reality of dogs and people sharing their lives.

Poetics of the Visual Interwoven with the political use of images, to catalogue, to confer verification, to affirm or challenge ideology, there is the aesthetic and artistic dimension of images. The unique character of the visual communicates at a different level from the verbal, although the interplay with text elements creates a different level of visuality. The contrast between visual imagery and written explanation is similar to the classical distinction between mimesis (showing) and diegesis (telling), which is so important in the arts and literature. There is evidence that the visual is part of a poetic process of expression and interpretation which ‘encourages the use of metaphor and the empathetic communication of knowledge and experience that cannot be expressed using words alone’ (Pink 2004: 10). This poetic use of imagery creates feelings and texture; the imagery speaks directly to the individual’s inner self, evoking memories, reflections and feelings. For example, Rosy Martin and Jo Spence developed a therapeutic use of photographic practice – ‘phototherapy’. Their work, based on enactment and framed within a feminist practice of the performative body, explores identities, sexualities, ageing, desire, shame and sense of place (see e.g. ‘Phototherapy and re-enactment: the performative body’, 2001). In her series Too Close to Home? (2000/2003), Martin’s images of everyday domestic objects take on eerie significance: a kitchen cupboard from which a bunch of keys hang, a white picket gate around which a privet hedge is overgrown, seem filled with a sense of loss and the hidden biographies of their user; their worn, mundane, still presence. Such meanings are hard to articulate in language and the images may provide a conduit for emotions; the scar tissue of the habitual resignation to ordinary life. In this less tangible realm of the poetic, with its resonances for the individual, the image may not easily be reduced to a rational object; as Gaston Bachelard suggests: the “objective” critical attitude stifles the “reverberation” and rejects on principle the depth at which the original poetic phenomenon starts. As for the psychologist, being deafened by the resonances, he keeps trying to describe his feelings. And the psychoanalyst, victim of his method, inevitably intellectualises the image, losing the reverberations in his efforts to untangle the skein of his interpretation. (1964: xxiv) That there is a tension between the use of images as aesthetic and political objects becomes clear from the commentaries of visual sociologists and anthropologists. Several visual sociologists have experienced an ambivalence with the discourse of art. Panizza Allmark, whose work straddles the boundaries between politics and aesthetics, comments on the uneasy consequences for her work being viewed as art: ‘Within the art forum at times it tends to lose its textual political base, as images are open to be read in many ways, and the images may be rendered within a passive aesthetic status’ (see Part II).

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28 Visual Research and Social Realities Conversely, it is certainly the case that some works of art, despite the popular aura of romantic artistic status, are nevertheless able to convey profound social and political realities, under the wire. Such startling existential truths and stinging social criticism may make them dangerous objects; the Nazis called expressionist abstract art ‘degenerate’ and destroyed hundreds of modern masterpieces. This intense focus on policing European art that didn’t conform to Aryan ideals led to the launch in July 1937 of the Degenerate Art exhibition, which was visited by millions of people. Each piece of avant-garde art was juxtaposed with derogatory statements. This was intended as an object lesson for German citizens in the wayward degeneracy of abstract expressionism, and was planned to contrast with another exhibition just the day before dedicated to painting and sculpture which celebrated ‘supposedly wholesome’ Nazi aesthetics (see Barron 1991; Burns 2013).

Indeterminacy: Pareidolia and Aberrant Decoding The problem of meaning is a crucial issue. It is clear that many images are open, ambiguous and may be interpreted in multiple ways. Conventions and cultural narratives or discursive structures will organise and categorise these visual signs and are perfectly capable of producing meanings and intuiting intentionality even when images are accidental or randomly produced. The Rorschach inkblot test (Figure 1.13) is an interesting example which highlights our relentless capacity to make sense of patterns. It is used as a psychometric examination in which patients interpret a series of ten inkblots supposedly revealing hidden (subconscious) aspects of personality, cognition and emotion. For this type of test to be useful it depends really on an innate human trait to actively and purposefully attribute meanings, even to random patterns and shapes where none have been intentionally produced. This is known as pareidolia. It most commonly refers to a proclivity to see human faces hidden in a visual pattern, in, for example, inkblots, the play of shadows, random patterns in textures of stone or fabric or vegetation, like the tree roots below (Figure 1.12). According to Gombrich, faced with images that are to varying degrees ambiguous, indistinct, or incomplete the viewer must deliberately work to arrive at an intelligible interpretation, supplying possible solutions from their own cognitive resources which are then projected onto the original material. (Pepperell 2006: 2–3) Sometimes, everyday objects and surfaces bear a striking resemblance to faces or a picture of something else. If one were superstitious, it is easy to see how these accidental patterns which appear (like those in tea leaves) might be considered prescient; suggestions or omens for future actions or occurrences. This is also a well-recognised source of creativity. Da Vinci noted the value of looking at random patterns in walls to compose diverse landscapes. Surrealists Magritte, Ernst, Dali and Bunuel played with the accidental resemblances of things and landscapes to suggest hidden and sometimes ominous realities, questioning the objective, rational interpretation of the world; making playful juxtapositions with the categories of meaning and metaphors used in everyday life.

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Figure 1.13 First of ten cards in the Rorschach Test

Figure 1.12 Pareidolia – hidden face in tree roots, Peak District

Pareidolia is an example of finding pattern and meaning in the ambiguous or unusual. But when there is a gulf between the reader and the sign (in a picture, sculpture, facial expression, etc.), the problem is often how to interpret visual signs correctly. Sometimes we are faced with artefacts which are ancient and where the once meaningful signs are now obscure and the context in which they were used has been lost or is unintelligible to us, looking as we are through the eyes of current social and cultural values. Making interpretations of this sort falls into the category of ‘aberrant decoding’ (a term coined by Umberto Eco (1965)). Eco suggests that if we do not have access to the repertoire of codes the artist or author had we might be interpreting the message from entirely the wrong standpoint. The way in which we process and understand artefacts like these is instructive of the problems of visual communication per se. What do they reveal of the source, the author, the sculptor, or the religious or secular institution where we find them located? The sculptor of the grotesque carving in Figure 1.15, seen decorating Parade Chambers in Sheffield, is known to be Frank Tory Sr., and this was carved sometime in the late nineteenth century (Sheffield Hallam University 2006). The meaning is, however, unclear. It is said that sculptors often communicate their ‘signature ideas’ in these decorative pieces. Could this be a representation of demonic (or angelic) agency, a graphic depiction of falsity and duplicity? There is also a sense that such decorative Victorian carvings might not need to be taken as serious things to ponder, but are mere grotesquery, so called ‘hunky punk’6 and could even be an ‘in joke’ amongst stonemasons. The two figures carved into the north side of the Prior Leschman Chantry Chapel, in Hexham Abbey, date back to fifteenth century and are part of the lower row of

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30 Visual Research and Social Realities the Leschman Screen, the tomb of Roland Leschman (Prior 1480–91) (Figure 1.14). Their origins and meanings are hard to ascertain. The Abbey website calls them ‘playful and irreverent scenes’, the Church Guide describes them as ‘crude, vigorous, almost barbaric …’. Pevsner called them ‘surprisingly inappropriate’ (Hexham Abbey website 2020). The central figure can, perhaps, be interpreted as a sardonic commentary on the church as predatory. Is the central motif that of a fox dressed in clerical clothing while presiding over the congregation in the guise of geese? This is one suggestion given and at least this can be linked to similar carvings elsewhere in the country. In one example in the South West the fox figure appears to be wearing a bishop’s mitre. These two figures might appear irreverent and even have vestiges of paganism. These motifs may be representations of truisms or popular folk knowledge; ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ for example. The Sheela Na Gig Project has included the other figure (Figure 1.14b) as an example of the ancient ‘quasi-erotic stone carvings of a female figure’, but ultimately recognises it does not display many of the distinctive features of other Sheela Na Gig carvings: This figure has been referred to as a “Sheela na gig” but … is not obviously female or male for that matter.The three lobes could be an indication of a penis and testicles but if they are the execution is very modest.There is not anything that could safely be described as a vulva. Nevertheless, the imagery in the carving is complex and obviously symbolic, though with male, female, death, beast and possible royal imagery it’s a little hard to interpret its exact meaning. (The Sheela Na Gig Project) These carvings in Hexham Abbey highlight the dilemma faced in interpretation. When the historical gap is too wide and there are too few precedents, we are in danger of aberrant decoding.

Intertextuality From all of the above it is clear that how an individual interprets an image will depend on their accumulated cultural knowledge: it is as true of anything we see that our interpretation relies on prior codes. Kristeva argued that: ‘Whatever the semantic content of a text its condition as a signifying practice presupposes the existence of other discourses […] This is to say that every text is from the outset under the jurisdiction of other discourses which impose a universe on it’ (Kristeva, quoted in Culler 1981: 116). Just as Diagram 1.1 illustrates the filters that exist to make sense of the things we see, there are discursive structures which may be ingrained and limit the terms of reference we have or choose to use. We ‘read’ the images in front of our eyes through the pictures we have in our heads. No two people have the same repertoire of cultural experience; individual subjectivity is complex and unique; hence responses will vary depending on this association to a universe of discourse which shapes interpretation. In the examples discussed so far, an observer will decode the features of the image through associations to existing cultural knowledge. Experience imposes a set of available frames of reference. So, an observer’s perception of an image (or indeed any social sign) is constrained by rhetorical forms

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Figure 1.14a & b Two fifteenth-century carved figures, Leschman tomb, Chantry Chapel, Hexham Abbey, 2021

Figure 1.15 Grotesque figure, Parade Chambers, High Street, Sheffield

which exist and circulate in a culture. These frames for seeing are sometimes referred to as tropes. ‘Tropes’ are similar to figures of speech, like metaphors or analogies; once we see one image in relation to the visual framework or trope it suggests, a strand of interpretation is brought into play. Roland Barthes declared that ‘no sooner is a form seen than it must resemble something: humanity seems doomed to analogy’ (cited in Silverman and Torode 1980: 247). For example, the face in the poster (Figure 1.1) might evoke images from film genres; an interpretive framework snaps into place, shaping the way the elements in the text are read. This is not dissimilar to the foreground/background effect by which ambiguous figures will perceptually vacillate. But the interpretation of the poster image is more than the reading of an ambiguous line drawing; depictions like this poster have been intentionally crafted to resonate with certain popular discourses of ‘race’ and racism. In this case there is an intentional manipulation of tropes attempting to expose a supposedly conditioned response linking blackness with criminality and fear. Indeed, the eerie lighting and choice of stark unsmiling features looming out of darkness does not offer many alternative viewpoints. It verges on parody and stereotype, undermining the apparent (high-minded) intention of exposing a knee-jerk reaction to a black male face. However, although our perception of images is inevitably tied to the shaping influence of accumulated cultural knowledge, it is also likely that each individual’s positionality and political outlook will have a marked impact on how he or she reacts. Stuart Hall suggested that ‘texts’ (any cultural form) can be read from a variety of inherently political ‘reading positions’ adopted by the individual. In ‘Encoding/decoding’ (1980), Hall argued that the dominant ideology is typically inscribed as the ‘preferred reading’7 in a media text, but that this is not automatically adopted by readers. Hall (1980) identifies three broad frames of interpretation: the dominant (or ‘hegemonic’) reading, negotiated reading and oppositional (‘counter-hegemonic’) reading. Media sociologist

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32 Visual Research and Social Realities David Morley further emphasised the context-specific nature of these reading practices, suggesting that a particular individual or group might employ different ‘decoding strategies’ when faced with a specific topic or a social context in which media material is presented. In one context the same person may use an oppositional reading, but in another context ‘read’ the same content through a dominant (hegemonic) lens (Morley 1981a: 9; 1981b: 66–7; 1992: 135). Turning again to the example of the poster campaign, we might envisage a spectrum of reading positions, but the context of reading itself – a billboard on a busy road – will inevitably mean that the majority of those who pass in a car will barely register the image, or else it will merge into the more general transitory reception given to advertising hoardings. If walking down the road towards the poster, we might have a longer look at it and be faced by a sense of puzzlement. We might imagine that, like some poster ads, this is some sort of ‘teaser’ ad for a film or a TV drama, as the product line or branding is not readily identifiable. Closer consideration might bring a ‘political’ reading when the image resonates with the cultural baggage of the individual – affirming or challenging predictions of what the poster is trying to do. It seems quite possible that the reader might end up unclear as to the ultimate purpose of the campaign. In fact, the ostensible purpose was to encourage a public protest: a sense of outrage at the popular and degraded portrayal of black identity and our readiness to jump to conclusions. Unfortunately, in this case the majority of complaints received were from dentists. Perhaps, also, a campaign like this is heavily dependent on the wider political debate about diversity; perceptions and rhetoric around national identity and multiculturalism are a constantly shifting terrain.8 Since this was first discussed, ‘official’ use of the term ‘multicultural’ has faded out and, arguably, there is a sharper, more critical recognition of the sort of stereotyping which this poster alludes to but it is equally likely that little has changed. Perhaps the responses would be different more than twenty years later. Diagram 1.1 indicated some of the elements which shape how an individual sees and interprets such an image. These same cultural repertoires and processes are also how texts like this poster are produced. They are part of a ‘hermeneutic circle’ (Ricoeur) which we have faith in to communicate effectively. We draw these interpretive values from our cultural experiences (cultural capital) to interpret and understand as well as to generate, affirm or reproduce meanings. Images, language and other signs are encoded by a sender and decoded by a receiver (clearly reflexive and reversible roles). The manner in which the message is understood has to do with the perception of codes, context and intention in the readings of the signs passed between the sender and receiver and back again. The poster on a billboard was produced in a specific time, working within the possible parameters with creative tools of the advertising agency and with the hope of standing out and offending or stirring indignation and action in a particular imagined audience.

The Photograph as Proof of Existence – the Enigma of the Image The meaning of the image is a perennial problem. Ultimately it appears difficult to corral the image within any simple theoretical bounds; it remains a mercurial and contradictory form of representation. The question of how photographic images constitute evidence has been widely debated. Chaplin (2005) asked: ‘Do we really have to accept

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Visualising Social Life 33 that “photographic evidence” is a matter of cultural agreement – something that can be explained in detail as a dialectical relationship between image and caption?’ Chaplin is suggesting that constructionism insists that the image is polysemic; and therefore, a necessarily negotiated text in contrast to their possible specificity and realism as evidence. However, this understandable frustration between the photograph as an iconic record or as a relativist construct implicitly open to interpretation can disguise the importance of the image as both. After all, both aspects are inviolably true; the camera doesn’t ‘lie’, but all the nuances of photographic craft, timing, lighting, angle, not to mention the whole panoply of effects and devices post-production, provide a palette to create the original image as it exists out there to suit the interior vision of the photographer. While photographic images are undoubtedly explicit, this is also a reason why they must be considered problematic. Photographs appear authentic and transparent, but this is frequently exploited and images can be a seductive form for persuasive, even propagandist, ends. Some visual producers feel passionately that the power of the visual should not be subordinated to written language, but their ‘significative autonomy’ should be maintained while forging the best complementary relationship to better illuminate the research context (see Canals 2011: 233). Nightingale and Cromby (2001: 710) make the point that rather than rejecting realism and totally embracing constructionist relativism, a practical way forward comes from embracing a critical realist ontology wherein referentiality and objectivity are possible, though always partial, limited and necessarily dependent upon further empirical and discursive revision. What this permits is: first, a consideration of the ways in which the processes of social construction can be seen as constitutive or formative of the ontological, as well as the epistemological; and, second, a conceptual and theoretical framework within which the evaluation as to the accuracy of our accounts becomes possible. It is important to steer between a naïvely realist view of images as reaching into an untainted vision of social reality, or conversely become overly dismissive of visual representations as highly contrived, as ‘almost purely arbitrary constructions’ (Pauwels 2010: 572). The notion of the paradigm of ‘the trace’ is instructive as it demonstrates the genesis of photographic and painterly representations from the romantic notions of nature as exerting a mystical force; the belief in the idea that light emanating from landscapes or faces is captured, either by the artist in some inspired manner, or by the camera; growing into being due to the exposure to the light. The understanding of the nature of light and mystical connotations about life forces and nature are behind some of the early ideas about the image. This indexical aspect of the photographic image provides ultimate authenticity which in ethnographic work gives the possibility of conferring evidence which is compelling and not simply a cultural interpretation of others – but inside the world of others. Yet the glaring contradiction of this premise is obvious. The cultural gap, the ‘gap of representation’, is all too apparent. It is not the fact of the possibility of exact depiction but how the image is produced. The automatism of photographs makes them a unique case, as Ian Jeffrey points out: ‘Camera images were called “sun pictures” and said to be

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Figure 1.16 Mrs Moore, Sowerby Bridge, 1983

Figure 1.17 Son of a Lincolnshire miner, c. 1918

“impressed by nature’s hand”. Whereas earlier pictures were made or willed into existence, photographs were “obtained” or “taken”, like natural specimens found in the wild’ (1981: 10). First, the nature of the photographic image is recognised to be an ‘iconic’ form of depiction. In the sense that photographs record the actual light and contours of the person or object chemically or electronically, they are also (in Charles Sanders Peirce’s9 terms) ‘indexical’ – part of the very moment captured. When I look at the photograph of my grandmother taken in the early 1980s standing beside the wall of a mill pond in Sowerby Bridge (Figure 1.16) in her pale-yellow hat and red coat with its lapel sticker ‘COAL NOT DOLE’, referring to the miners’ strike of the time, there is a direct link to that moment; the image captured her features, a gentle smile, the contours of her aged face recorded in the light. The older photograph (Figure 1.17) was one in my grandmother’s album. I link these images because the day we walked to the mill pond and I took this picture, she had later expressed how sorry she was about the hardship the miners faced. Initially, I thought she was referring to the 1984–85 strike, which was certainly the biggest since the 1926 general strike and considered by many the bitterest, and one to which I knew she was sympathetic. However, at this point, musing over the photograph album and sipping tea in her front room, I realised she was remembering miners from a much earlier time and perhaps an earlier strike. The face in her album was of a boy, the son of a miner who was her neighbour. Just as her face brings back the moment in time, so the lad’s face took her back to her girlhood in Lincolnshire. This power to ‘fix’ people and events with relative certainty in time is what makes photography distinct from other interpretations of reality such as painting or discourse: Contrary to these imitations, in Photography I can never deny that the thing has been there. There is a superimposition here: of reality and of the past. And since this

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Visualising Social Life 35 constraint exists only for Photography, we must consider it, by reduction, as the very essence, the noeme of Photography. (Barthes 1984: 76–7) The photograph is literally an emanation of the referent. From a real body, which was there, proceed radiations which ultimately touch me, who am here; the duration of the transmission is insignificant; the photograph of the missing being, as Sontag says, will touch me like the delayed rays of a star. (ibid.: 80–1) Barthes is suggesting that capturing the ‘aura’, the light which etches the contours of the face and form, provides irrefutable proof, proof that the person once existed. Each of these photographs, 1984 and c. 1920s, in Barthes’ terms embodies the irreducible singularity of the image, indicating the noeme – that-has-been. As technologies evolve, the burn made on film (and maybe the code produced by the light sensor of a digital camera, too) made by light bouncing off a person’s skin is, for Barthes, irrefutable proof that the person once existed. This turn towards photography as phenomenological (Fisher 2008), as ontology rather than semiotics (Koike 2019), insists that the images have something more to impart, to unfold, rather than simply being an exercise in identifying signs. Photographs are a form of evidence (putting aside, momentarily, the obvious ease of deception and the use of images as propaganda through a panoply of techniques and tricks) at the basic level, such images are compelling, authentic indices of unique moments in the lives of people. In this case, the precious record of a family member already very old in a very specific time and place. From this it is obvious that photographic images can be explicit and specific, showing, with an unparalleled immediacy, aspects of the persons or places being examined. Digitalisation, however, means we may increasingly distrust the authenticity of images, even though they are seductively authentic, ‘more real than the real’.10 Have they lost some of the indexical quality of the Photograph, do we look at lost loved ones with any less melancholy? Probably not – the image is still an arrested moment, liable to be severed from its time and biography. However, there is more to this change than merely a shift from chemical process to electronic coding. The effect of the new forms of imaging marks a profound change in the indexical character of photography, there is effectively a breach between the referent and the image and its aesthetic meanings. To quote Wim Wenders: The digitized picture has broken the relationship between picture and reality once and for all. We are entering an era when no one will be able to say whether a picture is true or false. They are all becoming beautiful and extraordinary, and with each passing day, they belong increasingly to the world of advertising. Their beauty, like their truth, is slipping away from us. Soon they will really end up making us blind. (quoted in Ritchin 2009: ch. 3: ‘From zero to one’, p. 3) Further, although our perception of images is inevitably tied to the shaping influence of accumulated cultural knowledge, this also points to the fact that each individual’s

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36 Visual Research and Social Realities repertoire will vary. Is Wenders correct – do the discourses of advertising and promotion invade our sense of the world and even our own family archives and memories? Has our sense of the authentic been shaken by immersion in blinding pretence of social media and reality TV as Newby (2021) stated? ‘It doesn’t matter that Donald Trump lies because everyone is lying. Nothing is real. Everyone is editing, everyone is tricking you. Everything is “fake news”. And in the world created by reality TV, emotion and spontaneity is truth.’ These are interesting questions that give a sense of the implicit issues which the visual researcher may need to consider. Visual methods are as problematic as other approaches and do not provide some magical conduit into an unmediated social reality. Imagery is always, potentially, prey to expedient political and commercial use, as the, at times, exploitative practices attributed to the supposedly beneficent ‘free’ social media platforms so clearly suggest (e.g. in 2020 Facebook was sued for failing to protect 87 million users’ data harvested by Cambridge Analytica for use in advertising during elections (BBC October 2020). Many western democracies have high and growing levels of inequality; the more unequal they are, the more hierarchical they tend to be, creating a greater social distance (see Wilkinson and Pickett 2010). The status quo is maintained through systems of representation which reflect this as normal and unremarkable. Kress and Hodge argue that these divided material conditions manifest themselves in the ambiguous forms of ideology which they term ‘ideological complexes’: ‘An ideological complex exists to sustain relationships of both power and solidarity, and it represents the social order as simultaneously serving the interests of both dominant and subordinate’ (1988: 3). Bearing this in mind, most images are open to complex alternative and contradictory meanings. Hodge (2012: 5) suggests that contradictions are commonplace because they better enable ideological influence: ‘Contradictions come from the process of struggle, as meanings from the other are incorporated into discourse, in complex structures which risk incoherence to manipulate better.’ Analysis of constitutive elements and intertextual relationships may suggest a dominant ideological reading or play off alternative views, leading the reader to feel inoculated and ultimately vindicating the dominant value system (arguably the case with Figure 1.2). In addition to these complex embedded ideologies in news and commercial texts, is the assumed objectivity of photographic images; they can represent objects and they can be objects themselves. The images’ explicitness presents an apparently unarguable reality, yet paradoxically this indexical relationship of images to actual reality has the potential for systematic distortion like any other medium in the hands of those who wish to persuade or shape attitudes.The next section examines images as agents of social control or, at least, as players in this dual ideological role.

Scopic Regimes: Surveillance, Spectacles and Simulations One of the most commented-on aspects of western culture and to an extent a growing feature of global society is the prominence of surveillance. Jeremy Bentham’s 1785 vision of the panopticon was a design for prisons, said to be derived from the plan of a military school in Paris.The building comprised a central tower in the middle of a circular building lined with cells open to the scrutiny of the warder. The concept of the design is to allow an observer to oversee all prisoners without the prisoners being able to tell whether

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Visualising Social Life 37 they are being watched, thus conveying what Lang (2004: 53) called the ‘sentiment of an invisible omniscience’. Bentham conceived of this as a structure which would make the need for state violence obsolete as control would be possible by the simple ordering of public space.The principles of this design were taken up by several prison regimes; at Port Arthur prison in Tasmania, for example, with its radical and cruel approach to the moral education of criminals. There the chapel cubicles were set up dividing prisoners from one another and directing their view onto the priest, while the partitions dividing each cubicle prevented them from seeing the men next to them. A warder seated on a raised platform would have an unobstructed view of the congregation. The design of prisons, as a ‘moral architecture’ rendering the individual transparent to the gaze of the warder, is thought to have been influential on the architecture of other buildings: factories, schools and hospitals; and some shopping malls, too, have a similar architecture with a central domed tower and radiating arms of the malls (see e.g. Davis 1990: ‘The Panopticon Mall’). The notion of a social subject totally exposed before the omniscient gaze of an authoritarian society which has the vested power to order, shape and control has been influential in western culture. Orwell’s dystopian novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four, where even the thought processes of citizens are scrutinised, seems prescient today with the incessant scrutiny and self-conscious presentations which have become the norm. Foucault’s Discipline and Punish (1977) examines ‘panopticism’ as a movement in an evolving discourse of disciplinary society. Elements of this vision seem particularly prescient in Britain today. There are estimated to be around 5.2 million CCTV cameras in Britain, about one for every thirteen people. These are located in every main street and in public buildings like Job Centres where some have sensors which activate them if they detect aggressive voice tones over a certain decibel level (Goodchild 2007). In addition, they are being used privately in people’s homes to monitor domestic abuse or to gather evidence about neighbours. The latest software also incorporates facial recognition algorithms which can identify individuals in crowded streets, in demand for its state security applications (but with obvious threats to civil liberties). There are also systems which claim to be able to analyse emotional states based on non-verbal facial expressions. In China this appears to have implications for many aspects of people’s lives. Emotion-recognition technologies – in which facial expressions of anger, sadness, happiness and boredom, as well as other biometric data are tracked – are supposedly able to infer a person’s feelings based on traits such as facial muscle movements, vocal tone, body movements and other biometric signals. It goes beyond facial-recognition technologies, which simply compare faces to determine a match. But similar to facial recognition, it involves the mass collection of sensitive personal data to track, monitor and profile people and uses machine learning to analyse expressions and other clues. When harnessed to particular values this may be even more worrying. A recent Guardian story suggests that in China, where emotion-recognition software is said to have been actively used since at least 2012, figures including President Xi Jinping have emphasised the creation of ‘positive energy’ as part of an ideological campaign to encourage certain kinds of expression and limit others (Standaert 2021).11 Stories like this may indeed have some truth (although one has to be cautious about such claims for several reasons, not least that there is a selective perception about China which too often follows the existing grain of western prejudices). In addition, claims

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Figure 1.18 Graphic of six basic emotions – emojification project, with permission from the emojify.info team (full details in notes)16

for the effectiveness of such systems may be exaggerated. In a joint project, UCL and Cambridge University set up a website called Emojify to test the accuracy of emotionrecognition systems. There is evidence that there are significant flaws and inbuilt ethnocentric biases.The other most telling flaw is the idea that facial expressions mirror internal states, rendering people as little better than emojis.This ‘emojification’, ‘the risky oversimplification of our inner lives’, pays scant attention to cultural differences, context, and nuances of feeling, and, recognising only six basic emotions, becomes a crude screen through which we are measured (Figure 1.18). However, the investment in such systems will be of great interest in the future. Projected uses already include: marketing for the evaluation of reactions to products and brands, criminal justice for the assessment of innocence or guilt, and HR to assess veracity and commitment. While originally a term used by Christian Metz (1982) to discuss the very different visual spectacle of cinema as distinct from theatre, a ‘scopic regime’ has come to mean a generic way of looking, mediated by the particular technology employed as well as the shaping influence of dominant discourses within a particular culture. More ambitious theoreticians have posited general systems of visuality constructed by a cultural/technological/political apparatus mediating the apparently given world of objects in a neutral perceptual field. In this more totalising usage,‘scopic regime’ indicates a non-natural visual order operating on a pre-reflective level to determine the dominant protocols of seeing and being on view in a specific culture. One interesting view of history is suggested by Mirzoeff (2011) who argues that ‘the right to look’ entails the possibility of confronting the powerful visual dominance of history through strategies of ‘countervisualisation’. These countervisualities confront the dominant lens imposed on reality, challenging by asserting alternative visions. Mirzoeff ’s genealogy of visual history of the world recognises several visual regimes. First, slavery and the ‘plantation complex’ with its obsessive cataloguing, ordering of the world and creation of racial hierarchies. Then ‘the imperial complex’ which reframed the crude taxonomies of the plantation into hierarchies of cultural differences, with European culture being at the pinnacle. This was the precursor to the military industrial complex which he sees as the current visual order. One often cited example of countervisual challenge is the use of social media optics to marshal support

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Visualising Social Life 39 for the series of popular protests and uprisings in 2011. Doerr, Mattoni et al. (2013: xi) cite how the impact of: Pictures and videos showing the gathering of people in Tahir Square (Egypt), Puerta del Sol (Spain) and Zuccotti Park (United States) quickly became vivid tools of “countervisuality” (Mirzoeff 2011) that opposed the roaring grassroots political participation of hundreds of thousands of people to the silent decisions taken in government and corporation buildings by small groups of politicians and managers. However, there is rarely a clear divide between hegemony and counter-hegemony in these cases. Mirzoeff (2011) explored the countervisual challenges to scopic regimes of history, suggesting that ‘the right to look’ entails the possibility of confronting the powerful visual dominance of history; countervisualisations through which the ‘real’ relationships are recognised. It is clear that challenges to the dominant order can be successful and undermine the visual order being promulgated. But, as Arnaut (2013) argues, there is a problem, as positing clear-cut hegemonic and counter-hegemonic visual practices ‘runs the risk of dichotomization where a strong argument can be made in favour of complicity, polysemy and articulations (cf. Stuart Hall) – notions which fit better with the more processual “search for hegemony”’. Theoretically the relationship of the look to power relations has been of interest in social sciences and media studies, and in particular the way in which different groups are positioned in cinema and photography. Laura Mulvey’s work used Freudian and Lacanian theory of scopophilia (the desire to look – voyeurism) in the analysis of cinema. Typically, films tended to present women as the object to be looked at, and men are the ‘bearer of the look’ ([1992] 2001: 346). The look is indicative of the dominant subject positions of men and women in society. Literature, film and other media position women as subordinate and passive, men as the active protagonists who present the locus of control through their objectifying ‘male gaze’. Sarah Atkinson gives reference to this aspect of visual media in her (Part II) discussion citing Hitchcock’s Rear Window as a famous example of the voyeuristic theme in cinema (see also Chandler 2010). French situationist philosopher Guy Debord (1967: 44) described everyday life as ‘a permanent opium war’. Modern capitalism was an ‘immense accumulation of spectacles’ and what was once ‘truly lived has become mere representation’ (Ali 2006). Spectacular defining events are likely to capture our attention. Edward Bernays (considered one of the founders of public relations) recognised the power of a fabricated spectacle (a pseudoevent) to shape public opinion. In a 1929 campaign to promote smoking to women (at the time there was a very negative, stigmatised view of women who smoked), Bernays drew on psychoanalytical thought (his uncle was Sigmund Freud) and he staged an event employing debutantes and models to pose as suffragettes as part of the annual New York Easter Parade. At a prearranged signal from him they would light up cigarettes. Bernays had alerted all the main news agencies that a group of suffragettes were planning to protest by lighting up ‘torches of freedom’. The mass spectacle was reported across America and, reputedly, thousands of women took up smoking as a result.12 The media tend to focus on those events which are ‘newsworthy’ rather than commonplace. The more subtle processes which are harder to portray in visual media don’t

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40 Visual Research and Social Realities lend themselves to the iconic photo-image or the ‘sound-bite’ news feature. How can a gradual process of everyday lived reality be portrayed when by the market-driven values of news corporations, they are redundant? Les Back (in an interview quoted below) suggested that sociology too needed a more careful focus which did not miss the profound aspects of everyday life in favour of a focus on the spectacular, the ‘big issues’ in social sciences: I think both politics and sociology are drawn to a kind of unhealthy fascination with the spectacular; the violent outburst, the biggest news, the loudest voice, the most exotic example. I think we need to find another way of engaging with the ways in which people live through and across, within, beyond sometimes the differences which they inherit and that they make every day. I’m not sure we’ve got a language to describe that, because they are the remarkable things that are not remarked upon because they are not spectacular. (Les Back interview, CRONEM Conference, 15 June 2006, Spencer 2006b) The power of the spectacle to focus attention and create mythical narratives to invade all aspects of social reality is never more alarming than in the case of ‘war’. We have limited resources when it comes to news from distant parts of the world. Despite the proliferation of media channels there is a high degree of media consolidation with ownership in the hands of relatively few global corporations. If we depend on news sources to understand what is happening around the world, it is fair to assume that what we are presented with is a culturally-specific frame of reference for interpreting often complex political situations with equally complex historical origins. We are confronted with media imagery which tends to be built around narratives that have been filtered, censored and shaped in terms of what is seen as appropriate to the sensitivities of the home nation. In the case of the 2003 invasion of Iraq, it could be argued that there was a mythical narrative of ‘war’ (when it was, in fact, a swift invasion of a fairly defenceless country in which many thousands of Iraqis died). Several writers have claimed that the 2003 Iraq war was not really a war but a series of spectacles staged to provide images of heroic battle (akin to the epic conflicts of the Second World War. The media is central in the illusion: Professor Richard Keeble at Lincoln University explained how carefully the conflict was choreographed to build the heroic impression of warfare: There was no war in the Gulf in 2003. Rather, a myth of heroic, spectacular warfare was manufactured, in large part, as a desperate measure to help provide a raison d’être for the (increasingly out-of-control) military industrial complexes in the US and UK – and to hide the reality of a rout of a hopelessly overwhelmed ‘enemy’ army. (Keeble in Allan and Zelizer 2004: 43) What Keeble is suggesting here is of primary importance to the discussion of visual culture, and current media portrayals specifically, and it accords with postmodern concerns about spectacles and simulations. Jean Baudrillard (1983: 2) defines simulation13 as follows: Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal … It is no longer

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Visualising Social Life 41 a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real. In Baudrillard’s view, this interpenetration of reality by fantasy was apparent everywhere. During the Gulf War in 1991 he controversially claimed that the war had never happened, that it was just a video game. Similarly, the 2003 invasion was more like ‘reality TV’ – as Armando Iannucci explains: The fact that such events are presented as a spectacle viewed thousands of miles away in living rooms in cities and countries removed geographically, culturally and ideologically from their epicentre raises the suspicion that these are events taking place in another space, another reality. These are images so stage-managed, choreographed, packaged and mediated that they could indeed be said to have the character of media simulations, virtual reality games or the postmodern sense of myth. (Armando Iannucci, Guardian, Monday, 28 April 2003) Some postmodernist claims are nihilistic and seem to lead to a cul-de-sac in the discussion of social change; however, it is clear that to some degree we are living in an era in which facts seem to be easily discarded in favour of strong opinionated rhetoric and stage-managed media events. For example, some video-gaming companies have based their computer animations on footage of actual warfare which has then been modelled and simulated. The results are increasingly realistic and aim to re-create as closely as possible the experience of combat in different theatres of warfare. ‘Shock and Awe’ (the name given to the spectacular extreme bombing campaigns on Baghdad) is now a brand name used in dozens of products. Real life events are commodified and can become elements in fantasy. Nearly twenty years after the invasion of Iraq, we are living in a world in which the manipulation of the spectacle has reached its pinnacle. Since 2011 we have witnessed the Arab Spring uprisings, the Libyan revolution, the UK riots and the deathly ongoing disasters of war in Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan. As I write, the current spectacle is the desperate scramble to escape from Afghanistan as the Taliban seize power (and the optics are reminiscent of scenes from the evacuation of Saigon fifty years earlier). In addition, the invasion of Ukraine by Russia eclipsed other events in early 2022. Until then, Ukraine was arguably little more than a pawn in the game of complicit superpowers, but Churchillian rhetoric soon pushed alternative viewpoints to the margins. As Professor Bob Franklin commented, the first victim of war is complexity The increased visibility and ‘permanent connectivity’ (Castells et al. 2007) of populations has meant that the most successful power brokers are those who can best exploit these arenas. Kellner suggests that Barack Obama artfully choreographed his campaign, arguing that: ‘the key to Barack Obama’s success in two presidential elections was largely due to his becoming a master of media spectacle, blending politics and performance in carefully orchestrated media spectacles’ (Kellner 2017: 3). For Kellner the optics of the Trump ascendancy were even more stark and stagemanaged, an extension of the reality TV show the Apprentice, with Trump playing the presidency as King of the Spectacle: ‘Trump is the first celebrity candidate and now president whose use of the media and celebrity star power is his most potent weapon in his improbable and highly surreal campaign and presidency’ (Kellner 2018: 187).

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Technologies: Tools of Oppression or Liberation? These examples highlight and critically reveal the way in which imagery can be persuasively harnessed, turning the political arena into a series of choreographed spectacles or disguising the real motives of wars and their devastating consequences on civilians. All of this indicates that, despite the many benefits of using images, there is the possibility that the viewer may be prone to a misapprehension that video, film or photographs open a window into the lives of people without any of the barriers and obstacles inherent in other accounts, especially those which are written.We are, after all, experiencing the nuances of non-verbal codes which are lost in written forms. However, while there are many benefits for the researcher in the use of video or still pictures, it must be remembered, as Marcus Banks suggests, that: Images are no more transparent than written accounts and while film, video and photography do stand in an indexical relationship to that which they represent they are still representations of reality, not a direct encoding of it. As representations they are therefore subject to the influences of their social, cultural and historical contexts of production and consumption. (Banks 1995) Our culture is one which gives great authority to TV images. There is the understandable belief that film and video simply record events, delivering an unmediated view of reality. Live coverage of events as they occur, for example, in a war zone, is often presented uncritically as incontrovertible evidence. This popular conception that the visual media are an authoritative source is, as Fiske suggests, a covert form of propaganda. The impossibility of objectivity and the consequent irrelevance of notions of bias (based as they are upon an assumption that non-bias is possible) ‘should not blind us to the ideological role that the concept of “objectivity” plays’ (Fiske 1989: 288). This power to shape perception of events has long been recognised and exploited. It is certainly true that media images have an extraordinary power which endures in the memory. In a 2003 interview, Professor Bob Franklin (founding editor of Journalism Studies) made the point that the visual impact of TV can be greatly influential and hence prone to active censorship when oppositional political views might be broadcast: S.S. Would you argue that TV perhaps is accorded greater value and authority than other forms of media? B.F. Absolutely … It’s very, very hard for a radio journalist or a print journalist to produce an image that’s as evocative as a young child running down a road, on fire with napalm.14 And I think governments understand that. And I think it’s precisely why, when the government – Douglas Hurd, then Conservative Home Secretary – banned eleven paramilitary organisations and parties in Northern Ireland, the ban applied only to television. (Spencer, unpublished interview with Professor Bob Franklin, 2003) How can such images be understood? Sontag makes the point that the moral impact of such pictures depends on the political consciousness of the viewer: ‘Without a politics,

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Visualising Social Life 43 photographs of the slaughter-bench of history will most likely be experienced as, simply, unreal or as a demoralising emotional blow’ (1978: 19). More than this, perhaps, images are often trivialised or ignored – indeed there may be no communicative bridge to allow their real significance to emerge. Forty years ago, John Berger’s ground-breaking 1970s TV series Ways of Seeing made this point, in his powerful contrast between the ‘publicity dream’ in glossy advertising and images of East Pakistani refugees pictured in a magazine, highlighting the total disconnect and trivialisation. As he flicked back and forth through the pages he pointed out how intrinsically hollow were appeals for aid when encountered in this context; skeletal fly-covered victims sandwiched between the glamorous publicity images for deodorants and aperitifs. What happens in East Pakistan, or for that matter Birmingham, any historic event, anywhere, is always on the far side of the frontier of the publicity dream. What happens ‘out there’, happens to strangers whose fate is meant to be different from ours, what happens in the dream is meant to happen to us (Berger 1972). We can understand the images discussed above as products of particular scopic regimes. In the case of ‘SCARED?’ the dominant modes of seeing are being manipulated to highlight the scopic principles through which ‘we’ (often a privileged white audience) look at ‘them’ (the marginalised, black, ‘other’). Although, in this case, there are indications that the designers misrecognised the audience’s response, and the ambiguity of the image (which may have been intentional) made the final product look either crudely discriminatory, awkward or puzzling. We live in a society, then, in which digital devices are ‘increasingly the very stuff of social life in many locations … reworking, mediating, mobilizing, materializing and intensifying social and other relations’ (Ruppert et al. 2013: 3). It is important to consider how everyday interaction with technologies structures what and how their users see (Halavais 2013; Hartley 1992; Walker Rettberg 2014). Investigative journalist John Pilger is in no doubt that the digital revolution has entrapped masses in a form of digital slavery: Today, we prefer to believe that there is no submissive void. “Choice” is ubiquitous. Phones are “platforms” that launch every half-thought. There is Google from outer space if you need it. Caressed like rosary beads, the precious devices are borne headsdown, relentlessly monitored and prioritised. Their dominant theme is the self. Me. My needs. Riefenstahl’s submissive void is today’s digital slavery. (Pilger 2013) Pilger is here referring to the Nazi propagandist’s claim that successful propaganda depended on filling the submissive void in the German population. Pilger describes a vision of a Brave New World where choice is emphasised while ironically cementing consumers further into the corporate matrix, wherein the new communicative ‘platforms’ and their constant sensory barrage are treated with almost religious fervour, but arguably, these are choices which come at the price of conformity, loss of privacy and constant anxiety of exposure and loss of communal favour. He is also making an attack on ‘identity politics’, claiming that today: ‘“Identity” is all, mutating feminism and declaring class obsolete.’There is something in this argument (see Chapter 4). However, it is also the case that reducing identity and media effects polemically loses the nuance and background noise of life. Perhaps it is based on a stunted, reductionist vision of a mass audience;

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44 Visual Research and Social Realities passive and empty-headed, rather than complex and multiple audiences with critical and individualised reception of media messages? Conversely, Henry Jenkins’s concept of ‘participatory culture’ is often explained as the antithesis of the negative controlling vision of a consumer culture. By rejecting the passivity of the consumer in the capitalist system, and inviting individuals to take an active role in the production, dissemination and interpretation of cultural goods, using the new digital tools which are freely available, Jenkins (2006) evokes democratic ideals of equal access, expression, and representation. Overall, the way in which these changes in use of technology are shaping consciousness is hard to determine, but it seems clear that the ‘permanent connectivity’ of social media, and the immense volume of imagery, does make us increasingly image-centric. On balance one cannot deny that there are some positive Web 2.0 stories. But, in terms of the bigger corporatisation and increasing monopolisation of such systems, Christian Fuchs’s argument is compelling: he suggests that digitalisation has provided capitalism with a powerful tool to better manage the social processes of capital accumulation, hegemony, ideology and commodification (see Fuchs 2021). The willing engagement with the allpervasive social media provides an unlimited supply of digital labour. Fuchs shows how social media users are being exploited: Users of social media are creative, social, and active prosumers who engage in a culture of sharing, doing, connecting and making and in these work activities create social use-values (content, social relations, co-operation). On corporate social media that use targeted advertising, this creativity is a form of labour that is the source of the value of a data commodity that is sold to advertisers and results in profits. (2021: 22) And further, in true Marxist form: Digital labour is alienated from itself, the instruments and objects of labour and the products of labour. It is exploited, although exploitation does not tend to feel like exploitation because digital labour is play labour that hides the reality of exploitation behind the fun of connecting with and meeting other users. (ibid.) This brief detour into the disturbing realms of the spectacle and digital economies demonstrates again why a critical sociology of the image is important, because developments in media technologies and sophistication of production make the line between reality and fiction increasingly hard to detect.

Benefits of Visual Approaches Summing up what can be said about the positive values of using visual methods of research, first, the visual has an explicitness and immediacy which delivers a multisensory impact.This immediacy of the visual affects us in a profound and elusive way – before the sense-making apparatus, the cognitive processing, there is a pre-reflective reaction, as several writers and researchers have noted. There seems to be some agreement that there is

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Visualising Social Life 45 something indefinable about the visual, grounding it in material reality. It is an immediate and authentic form which verbal accounts are unable to fully encompass. Pink argues for the primacy of sensory experience in ethnographic research: Scholars across the social sciences and humanities are currently acknowledging the benefits of accounting for the senses … in a research agenda that emphasises the inevitable interconnectedness of the senses and the multisensoriality of human experience … This body of research has demonstrated the impossibility of separating the visual from the other senses in human perception, knowledge, understanding and practice. (2007: 135) Second, and as a result of this, visual records can create vivid and authentic personal narratives. Video narrative records are a powerful visual form bringing an authenticity of lived experience to the issue. They are, arguably, empowering when stories are told in people’s own words. When personal stories from experience and theoretical discussions are united, the result is powerful. This approach is not a substitute for other forms of academic engagement, but the variety of concerns and expressions stimulate greater interest and focus attention. Critical Race theorists have long recognised the power of individual voices to provide a ‘counter-story’ to expose and challenge consensus (Ladson-Billings and Tate 1995; Solorzana and Yosso 2001). Third, building on these points, visual material provides a form of ‘thick description’15 which helps in the exploration and understanding of theoretical ideas. Clifford Geertz adapted the concept ‘thick description’ in his approach to ethnographic study to suggest a more penetrating approach which recognised the multiple layers of our social reality. Drawing on philosopher Gilbert Ryle’s analysis of the complex motives behind the simple gesture of two boys winking, he demonstrates how more in-depth examination of social actions can be very revealing. It is not a case of enumerating ‘social facts’ about behaviour – such an approach remains superficial, he suggests – but about understanding the significance of such phenomena to the social actors and meanings revealed about the broader society. Doing ethnography is like trying to read (in the sense of ‘construct a reading of ’) a manuscript – foreign, faded, full of ellipses, incoherencies, suspicious emendations, and tendentious commentaries, but written not in conventionalised graphs of sound but in transient examples of shaped behaviour (Geertz 1973: 10). Imagery is explicit and specific, capturing the ‘instance in action’. As suggested above, photography is not untainted realism, but sometimes it might present us with ways of seeing the world which rupture the familiarity of the everyday, insisting on a closer look at those things beneath the mundane surfaces. As Allmark (2009) suggests, the value of her photographic practice is that it ‘conveys dialectical images that pose questions, rather than presenting answers. It is about contemplation of the world we live in rather than confirmation of how it is.’ This is to suggest that images and video might be used to capture and foreground the continuous process of complex dialectical change. This quality of some images to depict processes of social change can assist in the development of a more critical discursive approach for looking at the norms and values tacitly portrayed in society and in social products and representations.

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46 Visual Research and Social Realities By looking beneath the surfaces of social relations, the complex motives and meanings behind behaviour are revealed, creating what bell hooks (1997) has called ‘enlightened witnesses’ of cultural forms. We cannot avoid the bombardment of images, but we can develop a critical distance from them.Visual methods are an important part of the development in a critical sociological practice of seeing and producing images. Gillian Rose makes the point that: ‘If we can examine carefully where we see from, we might have greater insight about what we learn how to see’ (2007: 15). By taking a step back and permitting some ‘psychic distance’, one can usefully consider: what we are seeing and from where, which position; are we seeing something as others see it? Or are there unique aspects which we see that others perhaps don’t? Is this a constructed spectacle, what are the consequence of these images? Or, as W.J.T. Mitchell (2005) asks: ‘what do these images want?’ The insights gained help us to question rather than to merely affirm, to critically question rather than to passively consume, to consider the motives and examine the techniques used in advertising, news production and political rhetoric as well as questioning those institutions which are sometimes seen as impartial, objective and beyond bias. The image is political: it presents a picture of the world, presenting events from a point of view; ‘spectacles’ can be staged or selectively highlighted to support or affirm an ideological position. Imagery can position the subject and regulate social relations as a form of social control – one obvious way is through the proliferation of CCTV surveillance, and the ‘permanent connectivity’ of social media. However, at a more embedded psycho-social level, gendered or ‘raced’ practices of looking exert implicit influence on social relationships. Scopic regimes – modes of looking – are associated with pleasure as well as power; the gaze of the shopper and tourist, the flaneur or voyeur, is structured by global processes of consumption and the seemingly inexhaustible supply of images. Such modes of looking are interwoven with aesthetic and popular cultural tropes and genres in art, cinema and advertising. The ‘visual turn’ does seem to herald different and startling trends. What does the dawning of this new visual era mean? Mitchell says it is not clear but more critical work is urgently needed: Most important is the realization that while the problem of pictorial representation has always been with us, it presses inescapably now and with unprecedented force, on every level of culture, from the most refined philosophical speculation to the most vulgar productions of the mass media. Traditional strategies of containment no longer seem adequate, and the need for a global critique of visual culture seems inescapable. (Mitchell 1994: 16) This chapter has demonstrated different aspects of images and their uses as research evidence. It is clear from this brief account that images and video open up complex, reflexive and multifaceted ways of exploring social reality.The possibility of using images to address the complex ineffable aspects of culture make visual methods a powerful complement to more traditional approaches. Having ascertained that visual methods offer some unique insights less accessible to traditional methods, how should research progress, and in what processes, designs and methodologies could visual research be used? Chapter 2 will begin to address these questions.

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Critical Questions 1. Give an example of an everyday sight which might demonstrate ‘specified generalisation’. 2. Assess John Pilger’s views on the selfish absorption in social media – is there an argument to the contrary that such media are empowering and participatory? How might a visual researcher make use of these platforms? 3. Consider how you might see something very differently from someone else you know. Can you identify the ‘cultural imaginary’, or discourse(s), that might have shaped your perceptions differently?

Activity – make a visual study of a particular route you frequently travel where you live. Take note of features which might be visually indicative of complex social issues (e.g. signs in streets, posters, changing faces of commercial businesses, rubbish, colour schemes, signs of renewal, dereliction, gentrification, etc.).

Notes 1 Also, the concept has recently been refined and updated as the Digital Semiosphere – see Hartley, Ibrus and Ojamaa (2020); see Glossary – ‘Semiosphere’. 2 See more detailed discussion in this chapter. 3 See Glossary – ‘Discourse’. A complex concept originating in linguistics but coming to be associated with Foucault’s brilliant essays on the ‘discourse of power’. 4 See Glossary – ‘Habitus’. 5 Brexit (a portmanteau of ‘British exit’) was the term used for Britain’s departure from the EU – as the result of a referendum in 2016 and finalised in January 2020. 6 Hunky punk is Somerset (in the West Country of England) dialect for grotesque carvings on the side of buildings (especially churches). By definition, a hunky punk is an architectural feature that serves no purpose (The Art and Popular Culture Encyclopedia). 7 See Glossary – ‘Preferred Reading’. 8 It is true that the constant disavowal and resurrection of the concept of multiculturalism shows the lack of understanding of the fact that the nation is already a complex multiculture; it is far too late to try and re-insert sacrosanct British values, because the nation is already a place of extraordinary hybridity. As Gary Younge commented: The beauty of multiculturalism, for its opponents, is that it can mean whatever you want it to mean so long as you don’t like it. It has the added advantage of being a political orphan. Since it never had consensual support among the left – many of whom were wary of the attempt to replace anti-racism with a retreat into culture – there are few willing to give the term their full-throated endorsement. (Gary Younge in the Nation)

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48 Visual Research and Social Realities 9 Charles Sanders Peirce: Founder of American pragmatism, and a theory of signs which he called ‘semeiotic,’ However it is a very different theory to that of Saussurean semiotics: What Peirce meant by ‘semeiotic’ is almost totally different from what has come to be called ‘semiotics,’ and which hails not so much from Peirce as from Ferdinand de Saussure and Charles W. Morris. Even though Peircean semeiotic and semiotics are often confused, it is important not to do so. Peircean semeiotic derives ultimately from the theory of signs of Duns Scotus and its later development by John of St. Thomas (John Poinsot). In Peirce’s theory the sign relation is a triadic relation that is a special species of the genus: the representing relation. (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2010, Charles Sanders Peirce, section 10, Mind & Semeiotic [online] https://plato.stanford.edu/entr ies/peirce/#mind) 10 Baudrillard refers to the hyperreal as ‘more real than real’: something fake and artificial comes to be more definitive of the real (Simulacra et Simulation, 1981). 11 There is an interesting paper applying Foucauldian theory to the ideology of ‘positive energy’: see Zifeng Chen and Clyde Yicheng Wang (2020). 12 See Edward Bernays (the American nephew of Sigmund Freud) who used his uncle’s ideas about irrational desires to launch an early social marketing event depicted in The Century of Self by Adam Curtis (BBC mini-series, 2002, Episode 2: The Engineering of Consent). 13 See Glossary under ‘Simulation’. 14 This image of napalm survivor Phan Thị Kim Phúc, then 9 years old (taken by AP photographer Nick Ut), had a profound effect on the perception of the US role in Vietnam. 15 See Glossary – ‘Thick Description’. 16 With kind permission from the Emojify team. Including Veda Sutedjo, Igor (Gary) Rubinov, Livia Garofalo, Alexa Hagerty Dovetail Laboratories.

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Visualising Social Life 51 Lewis, J. and Lewis, B. (2006) ‘Trial by ordeal: Abu Ghraib and the global mediasphere’, TOPIA Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies, November. DOI: 10.3138/topia.15.27. Lotman,Y. (2005) ‘On the semiosphere’, Sign Systems Studies, 33(1). Lykke, N. (2000) ‘Are cyborgs queer? Biological determinism and feminist theory in the age of new reproductive technologies and reprogenetics’, conference paper – Fourth European Feminist Research Conference, Body Gender Subjectivity Crossing Disciplinary and Institutional Borders, Bologna, 28 September–1 October 2000. Madary, M. (2016) Visual Phenomenology, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Martin, R. (2001) ‘Phototherapy and re-enactment: the performative body’, Afterimage, Fall. Maynard, P. (2000) The Engine of Visualisation: Thinking Through Photography, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Mehta, Neil (2019) Book review: Michael Madary’s Visual Phenomenology, Philosophical Review. https://philarchive.org/archive/MEHMMV Metz, C. (1982) The Imaginary Signifier (trans. C. Britton, A. Williams, B. Brewster and A. Guzzetti), Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Mirzoeff, N. (ed.) (1999) Visual Culture Reader, London: Routledge. Mirzoeff, Nicholas (2011), The Right to Look: A Counterhistory of Visuality, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Mitchell, W.J.T. (1994) Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mitchell, W.J.T. (2005) What Do These Pictures Want? Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Morley, D. (1981a) ‘The nationwide audience: a critical postscript’, Screen Education, 39: 3–14. Morley, D. (1981b) ‘Interpreting television’, in Popular Culture and Everyday Life (Block 3 of U203 Popular Culture), Milton Keynes: Open University Press, pp. 40–68. Morley, D. (1992) Television, Audiences and Cultural Studies, London: Routledge. Muecke, S. (1982) ‘Available discourses on Aborigines’, in P. Botsman (ed.) Theoretical – Strategies, Sydney: Local Consumption Press. Mulvey, L. ([1992] 2001) ‘Visual pleasure and narrative cinema’, in M.G. Durham and D. Kellner (eds) Media and Cultural Studies: Keyworks, Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 342–352. Newby, Gemma (2021) ‘From Big Brother to Potus – how reality TV changed history and society’, From Fact to Fiction, BBC Radio 4. Online. www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/ 4QF4 kQwp fW3Z x3LJ 1yFL zrW/ from- big- brot her- to- potus- how- reality- tv- chan ged- hist ory-and-society Nightingale, D.J. and J. Crosby (2001) ‘Social constructionism as ontology: exposition and example’, Theory & Psychology 12(5): 701–713. Pauwels, L. (2010) ‘Visual sociology reframed: an analytical synthesis and discussion of visual methods in social and cultural research’, Sociological Methods Research, 38: 545. Pepperell, Robert (2006) ‘Seeing without objects: visual indeterminacy and art’, Leonardo, 39(5): 394–400. Pilger, J. (2013) ‘The new propaganda is liberal. The new slavery is digital: as Leni Riefenstahl said: “Propaganda always wins if you allow it”’, The New Statesman, 14 March. Online. www. newstatesman.com/politics/politics/2013/03/new-propaganda-liberal-new-slavery-digital Pink, S. (2004) Home Truths: Gender, Domestic Objects and Everyday Life, Oxford: Berg. Prosser, J. (2006) ‘Working paper: researching with visual images: some guidance notes and a glossary for beginners’, Real Life Methods, University of Manchester and University of Leeds. Ritchin, Fred (2009) After Photography, New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Rorty, R. (1979/2009) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (30th anniversary edition), Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rose, G (2007) Visual Methodologies, 2nd edn. Sage

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52 Visual Research and Social Realities Ruppert, Evelyn, Law, John and Savage, Mike (2013) ‘Reassembling social science methods: the challenge of digital devices’, Theory, Culture & Society, 30(4): 22–46. Goldsmiths Research Online. http://research.gold.ac.uk/7978/ Sapir, E. (1966) Culture, Language and Personality: Selected Essays, 8th edn, Berkeley: University of California Press. Sheela Na Gig Project, Hexham Online. https://sheelanagig.org/hexam/ (last accessed 4 July 2021). Sheffield Hallam University (2006) Public Art Research Archive, PUBLIC ART IN SHEFFIELD, page maintained by Dave Ball Slide Collection, Learning & IT Services. Last updated 5 September 2006, https://public-art.shu.ac.uk/sheffield/tor201im.html Silverman, D. and B. Torode (1980) The Material Word: Some Theories of Language and Its Limits, London: Routledge. Solorzana, D.G. and T.J. Yosso (2001) ‘Critical race and LatCrit theory and method: counterstorytelling’, International Journal of Qualitative Studies Online publication date: 1 July 2001. Sontag, S. (1978) On Photography, New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Spencer, S. (2003) Interview with Prof. Bob Franklin, University of Sheffield, unpublished. Spencer, S (2006b) Interview with Prof. Les Back, 15 June 2006, Southlands College, Roehampton University, London CRONEM Conference on Multicultural Britain: From Anti-Racism to Identity Politics to … (filmed by Keith Radley), unpublished. Spencer, S. (2014) Race and Ethnicity: Culture, Identity and Representation, 2nd edn, London: Routledge. Standaert, M. (2021) ‘Smile for the camera: the dark side of China’s emotion-recognition tech’, The  Guardian, 3 March Online. www.theguardian.com/global-development/2021/mar/03/ china-positive-energy-emotion-surveillance-recognition-tech Stöckl, H. (2020) ‘Multimodality and mediality in an image-centric semiosphere – a rationale’, in Crispin Thurlow, Christa Dürscheid and Federica Diémoz (eds), Visualizing Digital Discourse: Interactional, Institutional and Ideological Perspectives, Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Online. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781501510113-010 Stöckl, H., Pflaeging, J. and Caple, H. (2020) Shifts towards Image Centricity in Contemporary Multimodal Practices: An Introduction, London: Routledge. Tagg, J. (2003) ‘Evidence, truth and order: photographic records and the growth of the state’, in L. Wells (ed.) The Photographic Reader, London: Routledge. Thompson, J. (1994) The Media and Modernity, New York: Polity Press. Thompson, J.B. (2005) ‘The new visibility’, Theory, Culture & Society, 22(6): 31–51. University of Warwick (2020) What is Critical Realism? Education Studies, University of Warwick. Online. https://warwick.ac.uk/fac/soc/ces/research/current/socialtheory/maps/criticalreal ism/ (last revised 18 December 2020). Valier, C. (2002) ‘Punishment, border crossings and the powers of horror’, Theoretical Criminology, 6(3): 319–337. Valier, C. (2004) Crime and Punishment in Contemporary Culture, London: Routledge. Walker Rettberg, Jill (2014) Seeing Ourselves Through Technology: How We Use Selfies, Blogs and Wearable Devices to See and Shape Ourselves, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Wheeler, H. (ed.) (1935) Peoples of the World in Pictures, London: Odhams Press. Wilkinson, R. and K. Pickett (2010) The Spirit Level: Why Equality Is Better for Everyone, London: Penguin. Wittgenstein, L. (1976) Philosophical Investigations 1, Oxford: Blackwell.

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2

The Research Process and Visual Methods

The levels of understanding in the model shown in Diagram 2.1 are essential to social science researchers confronted by a profound problem: ‘how far can one ever really understand the social world?’ The relationships shown in Diagram 2.1 are of fundamental importance for coherent research; each facet represents different complementary levels of understanding and knowledge.While questions of being, knowledge relationships, appropriate strategies and tools are cornerstones of qualitative research, there is no formula or road map. There is some rationale for a cascade from the biggest philosophical question of being and existence down to specific tools for gathering data, yet, often the sequence is far from linear. Often a more inductive approach is valuable and the empirical reality of visual evidence in the field leads us to speculate about the nature of phenomena we encounter as well as our own abilities and the range of methods and theories available to highlight and locate the things uncovered.

Ontology There are different ways that the visual enhances our research. First, as many of the preceding examples have shown, the visual is an important form of data. The photograph above (Figure 2.1) could itself be data; picturing an outdoor exhibition in a southern town, a record of local people and their attendance of an outdoor event in the centre of public gardens. Second, visual methods can be employed as a means of examining a social issue; perhaps this was part of a photo-elicitation scheme in which several locals were asked to provide significant pictures of their everyday lives. The question of ontology can seem abstract, and indeed it addresses the nature of social reality; what really exists? This is double-edged where visuals are concerned. The nature of the image itself is an ontological quandary. As has been discussed already, images are very different from languagebased representations; they have a more immediate, preliterate impact on the senses, are explicit, iconic and for this reason highly persuasive as evidence, yet must be viewed with caution because of their seductive power. Photographs, like Figure 2.1 above, are highly constructed, not simply conduits into social reality. In other words, they can capture things which appear ‘real’ but have actually been carefully composed, often to emphasise an aspect of a scene, selectively drawing us to see and interpret in a specific way. In extreme cases, fabricated elements can be inserted, or entirely removed. The choice of visual media – photographs, video or drawings, murals, maps, diagrams, etc. – will undoubtedly have consequences in terms of the type and form of data produced and how this is interpreted. Like all research tools, visual ones are never ‘ontologically neutral’ (O’Brien et al. 2012). DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-4

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54 Visual Research and Social Realities

Diagram 2.1 Research process diagram Source: Adapted from Hay 2002: 64.

Figure 2.1 Open air gallery, Cheltenham, UK (2007)

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Epistemology Analysing the visual dimensions of social life to attain a ‘thick description’ (Geertz) is characteristic of a qualitative approach, and recognised as valuable when a complex and in-depth detailed understanding of an issue is required. Furthermore, Cresswell suggests that the qualitative mode of research is one through which: we want to empower individuals to share their stories, hear their voices, and minimise the power relationships that often exist between a researcher and the participants in a study.To further de-emphasise a power relationship, we may collaborate directly with participants by having them review our questions, or by having them collaborate with us during the data analysis and interpretation phases of research. (2007: 40) Research is not just a one-way process. Sociology’s objective is to understand how other groups and individuals experience and understand the social world. We are forming a picture of the picture that people have already formed. In the case of Figure 2.1, we see a picture in which people are photographed looking and appraising pictures created by other unknown people; the artists who painted or printed these images. The question of epistemology is a very significant one where images are concerned. In the photograph above the issue of what the object of the study might be and the distance and relationship between knower and what can be known is brought home to the viewer. In the same way, researchers have to consider the reflexivity of their own views and attitudes and the influence these may have on the process of research. However, like ethical concerns, individual cultural bias is not just a hurdle to be overcome, but rather an awareness which allows the researcher to re-focus attention on the central importance of research integrity and of how their research contributes and illuminates the issue. This can often involve collaborating with communities or individuals to gain better public understanding of a phenomenon, event or social context. In addition, visual methods may facilitate ‘engagement with alternative modes of knowing and understanding … to reach beyond the academy’ (Nunn 2017: 1). A visual dimension can be considered across all of these levels of enquiry. Ontologically pictures have an autonomous existence: ‘Vision is as important as language in mediating social relations, and it is not reducible to language, to the “sign” or to discourse’ (Mitchell 2005: 47). Epistemologically this is an anxious time in which the meaning of visual knowledge is pivotal. As Mitchell argues: ‘the problem of the image, the imagination and the Imaginary looms as an inescapable issue in epistemology and aesthetics’ (2005: 170). And while much education carries on along traditional text-based lines, outside the classroom the same students are faced with a veritable explosion of visual knowledge (see Ali-Khan 2011). Chapter 1 discussed how imagery has the potential to distort and serve political and ideological ends, as well as to capture powerful visions of social reality. Sociologically, the task is to work with ‘visions’ people have constructed of the world, which depend on their frames of reference; the dominant tropes and discursive structures they have available to them. Giddens introduced the concept of the ‘double hermeneutic’, recognising that sociologists are in the business of, as already stated, interpreting how people have already made interpretations of social life. Sociology’s unique perspective ‘deals with a universe

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56 Visual Research and Social Realities which is already constituted within frames of meaning by social actors themselves, and reinterprets these within its own theoretical schemes, mediating ordinary and technical language’ (1976: 162). What is meant by a visual methodology? Is it a different ‘paradigm’ for viewing phenomena in the social world? Or is it merely ‘a collection of methods used to understand and interpret images’ (Glaw et al. 2017: 1)? There are debates about how visual methods can be effectively utilised in research. At one level the pursuit of reflexivity, in which subjective relativism is embraced within broadly postmodern views, can still seem like original sin to orthodox scientific realist researchers, who, conversely, are sometimes characterised as outmoded and prone to merely reproduce their own specific cultural values as ‘the’ truth. Postmodern views are important; they permit subtle and nuanced understandings of subjective lifeworlds, reject absolutist worldviews and insist on ethical rigour and sensitivity in eliciting information while avoiding ‘outsider arrogance’. Conversely, an outsider view can be valuable and, if retaining ethical sensitivity, can bring further insight to an everyday context which may seem be so taken for granted it is ignored. Similarly, photographs and video can be used as documentary evidence, although it is how these are chosen and combined with other evidence that may make them effective. Photographs and video are not always the most appropriate tools for representing ethnographic contexts. As Sarah Pink comments: The appropriateness of visual methods should not simply be judged on questions of whether the methods suit the objectives of the research question and if they fit well with the local culture in which one is working. Rather, such evaluations should be informed by an ethnographic appreciation of how visual knowledge is interpreted in a cross-cultural context. (Pink 2006: 43) It is certainly important to explore the cultural context in which ‘available discourses’ frame perceptions. Where a group has been historically marginalised and relatively powerless, gathering ‘cross-cultural context’ is very revealing. In a discussion of the living conditions of indigenous Australians in northern Australia (Spencer 2005) or of African Canadians (Spencer 2012) and in more recent research nearer to home, divisions amongst residents in a Sheffield suburb (Spencer and Cox 2018), this certainly proved to be the case. Perceptions of different groups are filtered through dominant power relations and popular media, and other aspects of culture are an important part of this. The reflexive nature of sociological research, recognising fields of overlapping and socially constructed knowledge, partly addresses the question of ‘epistemology’ and what can be known about the social phenomena or beings in question. Cresswell explains the epistemological issue as: another philosophical assumption for the qualitative researcher. It addresses the relationship between the researcher and that being studied as interrelated, not independent. Rather than ‘distance’, as I call it, a ‘closeness’ follows between the researcher and that being researched.This closeness, for example, is manifest through time being in the field, collaboration, and the impact that that being researched has on the researcher. (2007: 247)

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 57 This ‘closeness’ is often mediated in visual research by the shared codes used in visual culture and in an immediate sense by the use of the camera in the specific research context, as the discussion below demonstrates. The visual gives evidence of existence; while, like any other form of evidence, it can be manipulated and distorted, it nevertheless provides an array of evidence which might suggest the reality of objects and their relative importance. Yet the verisimilitude of photography, we know, is also problematic because while photographic images are a ‘true’ representation in terms of the mechanical, chemical or electronic processes involved, the human eye and brain which framed and composed the image (not to mention the complex mediated processes of interpreting such an image) make such images no more objective or truthful a representation than any other medium of communication. As with the transitions in our understandings of the physical world, the understanding tends to be that it very much depends on our individual subject position and the choice of paradigm that an observer chooses. Harper has suggested that visual sociology offers us an arena to consider ‘postmodern critiques of ethnography and documentary photography and, in so doing, to fashion a new method based on the understanding of the social construction of the image and the need for collaboration between the subject and the photographer’ (2005: 747). Critical discussions about visual research have multiplied, as have the number of researchers employing visual methods. Digital cameras, with technical versatility and capacity unheard of twenty years ago, are now readily and cheaply available. This has led to an avalanche of visual material produced by, often, self-taught photographers and video makers. This is a situation which some professional photographers and filmmakers may decry, being concerned about a loss of technical standards or aesthetic quality of the imagery produced (once the province of a few skilled and doggedly patient individuals). When interviewed in 2001, Jean Rouch, one of the pioneers of French visual ethnography and ‘cinéma vérité’, was asked about the proliferation and accessibility of video cameras which permit anyone to shoot video. His response was angry and bewildered: INTERVIEWER: What about responsibility … with these video cameras anyone can film? ROUCH: It’s not true. We don’t shoot with these cameras. This does not work. This is not

a camera … It’s not true. We fight against this.You have to shoot with a real camera. And I demand that we ban all these instruments and the people shoot with the real thing … with a viewfinder through which you see the film you are shooting. Not with these things … they don’t work. (Jean Rouch on The Future of Visual Anthropology, 2001, YouTube clip, www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvyXCpzpJJs) Rouch could be viewed as a King Canute figure commanding the tide to recede; unable to come to terms with the speed of social change, or, a professional with a passion for realism who feels that video is not a serious form, because it can be captured almost casually without the discipline of film-making. Digital imagery is cheaper and easier to produce, manipulate and control, but is said to lack the smoothness and depth of colour and texture that film has. Just pointing a video camera which does not allow the framing of a shot can seem haphazard, implying a different relationship to the scene

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58 Visual Research and Social Realities one attempts to record. The relationship of the individual researcher/photographer to their camera and the act of photographing is a theme which will receive thought in Part II. It is particularly valuable to understand how professional photographers and filmmakers who are also social scientists have developed their practice. Roger Canal’s experience of fieldwork with a camera showed an awareness of how the presence of a camera brought opportunities and became a tool of networking to ‘provoke’ situations. Panizza Allmark (Part II) has described her camera as ‘a defensive utensil against loss of subjectivity’, suggesting that within her practice the creative subject and her camera are fused in an intuitive relationship. Both of these reflections recall Jean Rouch who also used the camera to create ‘cine-provocations’. The camera became a catalyst that made things happen that would otherwise be hard to reveal. To Rouch, the process of film-making was a ‘cine-trance’ where he no longer distinguished between the camera, himself and his environment (Sjöberg 2006). In the 1950s Rouch developed what he called ‘cine-fictions’ – later termed ‘ethnofictions’ (Stoller 1992: 143) – explorations of the borderlands between fact and fiction comprising dramatic reconstructions of the everyday lives of the people he had come to know through his work in West Africa. The intention to capture lived experience in the most honest way appears to blur the boundaries between cinéma vérité, non-fiction documentary and fictional narratives. In a panel conversation (Coover 2009: 237) Kelly commented that good fiction attained ‘a sort of phenomenological intensity of plenitude, or intimacy which is so hard to achieve with non-fiction’. This is an important point and suggests that capturing the experience of the human condition at its most profound is not only the province of objectivist science (even if this was strictly possible) and where visual records are concerned there is truth in fiction as well as fiction in truth. For visual anthropologists working in the earlier part of the twentieth century, the understanding of the aesthetic and ethics of photography and ethnographic film was at an early stage of development. Pioneers like Flaherty (Nanook of the North), Evans-Pritchard (studies of the Nuer) and Bateson and Mead (studies in Bali) have been criticised as objectivist, voyeuristic and fabricating social life for the camera. Anthropology at certain historical moments can be seen as re-affirming social Darwinist or colonialist views of racial hierarchy, potentially exploitative approaches to otherness. However, as Pink (2003: 185) points out, it is important to recognise that these are studies which need to be understood ‘in the historical contexts of their production and viewing’. Certainly, at different historical moments their work existed within a very different universe of meaning. Another observation about visual studies of different cultures is that they have a tendency to expose the cultural categories of the film-maker and anthropologist more than the culture in question. Dennis O’Rourke’s film Cannibal Tours examines this. Following a group of affluent tourists who visit communities along the Sepik River in New Guinea, seeking authentic ‘primitive’ culture, the sardonic eye of the camera exposes the impact of tourism and its profound effect; producing and reproducing distorted images of the indigenous people who constantly re-invent their culture to please the tourist cameras. Indeed, as the epigram at the beginning of the film succinctly states: ‘There is nothing so strange, in a strange land, as the stranger who comes to visit’ (O’Rourke 1987).

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 59 The relationship between the viewer and the viewed is a critical issue that the visual researcher must consider before, during and after the research. The strangeness of the ethnographer is important to recognise; rather than measuring other cultures from an assumed yardstick of western society, it is important to recognise the inappropriateness of deeming to speak for others. In fact, often it is our own cultural patterns that are thrown into sharp relief when we encounter people who have different cultural values. In terms of visual research, it is clearly important to avoid insensitive intrusion into the context and whenever possible forge a collaborative and empowering use of images or video footage. As with any research method, visual approaches ought not to be chosen without discussion of their validity to the research question and ethical sensitivity. Prosser and Schwartz highlight the ethical and epistemological problems of a visual researcher as detached observer, acknowledging the problems of the covert photographer, describing the use of telephoto lenses to avoid detection as ‘outsider arrogance’ (1998: 120). In addition, while it seems essential to strive for intersubjective understanding, it is also necessary to recognise the possibility of a gulf between ways of seeing which cannot be so easily bridged. As Ron Burnett wrote with reference to the ground-breaking work of film-maker Eric Michaels: Any presumption with respect to the communication of ideas which prioritizes the image over everything else runs the risk of searching for meaning outside the context of its production. It is fascinating that in our culture the production of images is responded to as if images exist in an autonomous realm. As if, in a sense, we must search within them for meaning. The Warlpiri don’t just see differently from us. They recognise the influence of context in a manner which we have yet to understand. So, the questions raised about the way in which they filmed one of their most sacred sites must be redirected toward our culture, towards the manner in which colonial cultures interpret their own production of meaning and to the resulting strategies which we take towards the technologies which we introduce to others. (Burnett 1990: 8) This is a very salient point. It can often seem that there is a focus on the image and on its composition quite divorced from the ‘bigger picture’ in which this image is composed as one fleeting example.The assumption that interpreting sign systems lies in our recognition of shared codes, but it is not something intrinsic to the image itself, it is the interconnection of cultural usage which is based on context of meaning, which may well lie outside our knowledge. Even with the best intentions we may be unable to correctly interpret another culture’s forms of representation, making ‘aberrant decoding’ all too likely. From this very quick review of trends in visual ethnography, it can be seen that the question of ‘what is out there?’ and ‘what and how can we know about it?’ are complex issues which are central to our own cultural being and knowledge, but also partly shaped by the changing technologies available to us, as well as the protocols and ethics of research practices.

Methodologies – Getting Started Clearly the nature of the research question and the phenomenon under research largely dictate what choices are appropriate and valid. Sometimes images or visual forms of

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60 Visual Research and Social Realities communication may be central to the research. In Dave Surridge’s work the hidden corners of the city are the canvas on which he gathers examples of an evolving genre of public art which has a special relationship to everyday life and offers a sort of oblique commentary on our relationships in cities like Sheffield. It is a sort of ‘vernacular landscape’ (see also Chapter 3). In this case the visual forms are themselves the phenomenon, but in other cases collecting images may be a means of recording changes in values; demographic changes, for example, can be reflected in the housing and signs of lifestyle in an area (see for example Charles Suchar’s 1997 study of gentrification in Chicago). In Sheffield I only need to walk around to see the prevalence of mini supermarkets, accommodation letting agencies, hairdressers, charity shops, takeaway restaurants and tattoo parlours to realise that the neighbourhood has changed to fit the needs of rapidly increasing groups of students.While in Brooklyn, as several scholars have noted, bicycles and vegan cafés are viewed by some as a sign of creeping gentrification, reflecting shifting economic and spatial patterns, visible manifestations of change, affluence, diet and environmental concern.1 So it may be that how visual codes are used is integral to the research, is in fact the specific object of your project. There is a great deal of research examining the visual representations of specific groups. In these cases, the focus on visual themes is often intrinsic to the purpose of the research; it is not merely based on a personal preference for using a camera rather than the pursuit of other forms of research; the significance of visual culture itself has taken centre stage. Research may begin with a question, sense of puzzlement or curiosity. Frequently the issues arise from the individual researcher’s unique circumstances and observations of everyday life. Of course, the research may be part of a formal contract or bid, following a well-trammelled trail of research within a specific discipline. But often the choice of method follows from the formation of an intellectual problem. It is rare to choose a method and then cast around for a suitable problem to solve; but the practice of visual research opens up new vistas for researchers and may implicitly guide the form and direction of research; the how of research shapes the what of research output. The experience of visual research can itself have a marked effect on the researcher’s perceptions of social reality and hence preface the gradual development of a new way of looking at the social world. The visual researcher develops an ‘eye’ through active experimentation. Taking pictures, producing images and criticising them develops a sense of the limitations and possibilities of the medium. As a purposeful visual aptitude develops, other images – from TV, advertising, public information campaigns, the whole gamut of commercial and public imagery we are exposed to every day – are viewed through the eyes of a more critical witness. The ‘taken-for-granted’ nature of these images is recognised instead for implicit as well as explicit social and political meanings. In addition, the work of other image makers, and how they achieved their effects, their underlying perspective or milieu, becomes more apparent to the critical and refined eye. Allmark in Part II briefly outlines a reflexive approach through which she first takes pictures at an ‘instinctual level’, and later: ‘The challenge lies in delving deeper to what makes the subject and photograph interesting. How does it conform to what has been done before? How does it build upon, comment on, and develop wider critical inquiry?’ As Grady (2001: 103) exclaims in a nutshell: ‘the more you shoot, the more you see’.

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 61 Visual sociologists bring a critical eye to the interpretation of images; developing the sociological imagination (Mills 1959) requires a form of free association ‘guided but not hampered by a frame of reference internalised not quite into the unconscious’ (Hughes 1971: vi). All of these observations suggest that an active visual practice which recognises the constructed nature of images, and the meanings and values they come to represent, might allow the researcher to adopt a more alert and critical stance to the maelstrom of images circulating in our culture. It is useful to differentiate between the forms of image-based research. Fieldwork can include: imagery created or found by the researcher in the course of their endeavours; or imagery created by the respondent. Jon Prosser (1998) has introduced these terms as the four Rs of visual research: • • • •

Researcher-found visual data Researcher-created visual data Respondent-generated visual data Representation and visual research

Found imagery could include: graffiti, cartoons, newspaper photographs, internet imagery, etc. Respondent-generated might include drawings, photographs and videos which have been produced by respondents, or may indicate the use of photographs, videos or objects introduced to elicit a response during an interview. For example, in a tape-recorded interview with my grandmother (then in her nineties) in West Yorkshire, I recorded her impressions as she leafed through a family album which contained images going back to her childhood in the early 1900s. The album served as a mediating context for the interview, aiding a more detailed recall of events and people. Each image evoked vivid narratives which traditional interviewing techniques would not so readily elicit.

Phenomenology When the question being asked is about the nature of a phenomenon, rather than its size or frequency, when qualitative questions are being addressed, then a phenomenological approach is required. Phenomenology is an umbrella term which includes a variety of methods and stems from the transcendental philosophy of Husserl (although possible roots go back to Aristotle) and the quest to reach into the inner reality of social life and know the underlying authentic truths of a person’s experience. As Husserl famously put it: ‘to return to the things themselves’ (Husserl 1931). In this view it is possible to capture the ‘essence’ of a person’s interior experiences, their ‘life worlds’, their unique perspective and interpretation. The question of whether essences are a viable object for research, or whether untainted versions of a social actor’s experience can really be obtained, highlight the idealism in the original conception of Husserl. However, the intention of informing the researcher’s ignorance of phenomena, behaviours and social contexts, without the assumptions of theory, is a useful starting point for research. Such a view is arguably valuable: ‘for understanding subjective experience, gaining insights into people’s motivations and actions, and cutting through the clutter of taken-for-granted assumptions and conventional wisdom’ (Lester 1999: 1).

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62 Visual Research and Social Realities Alfred Schutz developed Husserl’s concept of ‘Lebenswelt’ (lifeworlds), showing that, for the phenomenologist, the social actor’s understanding of their world is one of intersubjectively constructed meanings, while such constructs are, nonetheless, different from rational scientific thought: ‘common-sense thinking as well as in science, involves mental constructs, syntheses, generalizations, formalizations, idealizations specific to the respective level of thought organization’ (Schutz 1962: 58). The purpose of the phenomenological approach, then, is to illuminate the specific, and to understand phenomena as they are perceived by social actors in context. In the human sphere this normally translates into gathering ‘deep’ information and perceptions through inductive, qualitative methods such as interviews, discussions and participant observation, and representing it from the perspective of the research participant(s) (Lester 1999). To this extent, the approach produces a description of the research participant’s experience which is as accurate as possible – it does not presume to analyse this by imposing a theoretical framework on the data; it is a naturalistic, deep description attained through a relatively unstructured approach. Social knowledge, then, is an intersubjective construction; a constantly changing dialogue, through which individuals negotiate their sense of self-identity and social/cultural meanings. Therefore, as Cresswell (2007: 60) suggests, the sort of problem most suited to phenomenological research is one which would seek to understand the collective experiences of individuals in relation to a phenomenon. Finlay outlines the values associated with phenomenological accounts in Polkinghorne’s work, which highlights: four qualities to help the reader evaluate the power and trustworthiness of phenomenological accounts: vividness, accuracy, richness and elegance. Is the research vivid in the sense that it generates a sense of reality and draws the reader in? Are readers able to recognise the phenomenon from their own experience or from imagining the situation vicariously? In terms of richness, can readers enter the account emotionally? Finally, has the phenomenon been described in a graceful, clear, poignant way? (Finlay 2008: 7) These are qualities which research strives to attain.Visual methods, at times, demonstrate this richness; an image can make the account explicit and vividly manifest the material context in which people’s lifeworlds are constructed. The following example is a moment in research where a certain image is revealed as especially significant. Such an image might epitomise the understanding of the research context; it might be considered a ‘specified generalisation’ (Becker 2002; Rose 2007). Spencer (2006: 55) used several images to evoke a more nuanced understanding of a phenomenon.The battered statue of Queen Victoria (see Figure 2.2) is an icon which captures the divisive nature of British colonial rule, and, in the wake of independence, a sort of selfcontempt and nostalgia which is the result of the struggle between the different ethnic groups once united under colonial domination. Such ‘specified generalisations’ provide a tangible referent to the case, something specific and iconic which extends and adds depth to the issue. However, without the accompanying interview (see below) the special significance of the statue would not have been apparent. It is one visible element in a popular narrative about the exposed ethnic rifts in a post-colonial society. At the time this picture was taken (in 1991) the Indian Guyanese had been denied access to the political

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 63 system as a corrupt African-Guyanese regime hung onto power by election fraud. Since independence the country had become increasingly polarised along ethnic lines. Hence the resurrection of the battered statue held all sorts of complex meanings for the speaker. The interpretative process, as Prosser and Schwartz (1998: 126) remind us, ‘begins well before viewing a photograph, and takes place, for example, when decisions are made as to what and how the photographs are to be taken’. Sometimes, as in the case of the statue, below, an image presents an iconic sign; a context of colonialism and postcolonial ethnic rivalry. However, to an outsider, the visual presence of the statue means little without other sources of information. There is a degree of serendipity in the discovery and selection of images and their emergence as ‘specified generalisations’ (as discussed in Chapter 1); where they might instantaneously communicate a complex process, or anchor an interview to material and historical realities. Furthermore, the process is rarely linear; the significance of images may emerge when we have sensitivity enough to recognise their portent, and revealing the embedded layers of meaning in an image may suggest appropriate research strategies and resonances with theoretical concepts. The caveat for recording images of people is that, without the moral obligations of informed consent and transparency, any insights may seem empty and miss the point of ethnographic research, which is essentially a collaborative craft. Choosing a more ‘indirect ethnography’ (suggested by Harper 2005), for example by documenting pertinent cultural forms one can sometimes amplify and enhance phenomenological accounts while reducing potential ethical dilemmas. Below is the record of a brief exchange with an Indian Guyanese bus conductor who drew attention to the contentious statue (Figure 2.2). The fault lines between Indian and African Guyanese had always been there, and in fact had been nurtured by the plantocracy to maintain divisions and discourage a united front against colonialism. But in the aftermath of independence in 1966, stereotypes were weaponised in the scramble for sectarian power. ‘Look what they done to the mother!’ (an Indian-Guyanese bus conductor commenting on the defaced statue of Queen Victoria in Georgetown). ‘See see, that’s how this country run like … Queen Victoria they pushed her to the back of the Promenade Gardens.’ SS: ‘They chucked her out?’ DRIVER: ‘Queen Victoria – the mother.’ SS: ‘Yes I heard.’ DRIVER: ‘Queen Victoria who gave us this country – its independence – put her at the back …’ SS: ‘Desmond Hoyte pulled her out again?’ DRIVER: ‘Not Desmond Hoyte! No. Not Desmond Hoyte – the people – is the people. When they elect a new mayor for this town, the people call on the mayor, “Why have you got the queen, the statue at the back of …” Burnham2 used to go shit on her … This government just trying to squeeze this nation, they trying to see this nation wasting – they just going over the world and just asking for aid and help and all them ting. What are they doing with our own resource?’ Conversation on a minibus, Georgetown, 15 April 1991 (Spencer 2006: 55) DRIVER:

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Figure 2.2 Defaced statue of Queen Victoria in Georgetown, Guyana (1991)

The battered statue of Victoria – Georgetown, Guyana – an image which enabled a richer discussion of the divisiveness of British colonialism; a witness to its resistance and its romanticism. As Banks suggests, we need to give images the chance to breathe. There is an unfolding narrative which may not lance directly out of the frame, but which may be more gradual as the context around the image develops and other stories are collected. The defaced visage of the statue is an index of historical events, and becomes the locus of stories about colonialism, the struggle for independence and bitter ethnic rivalry (see Spencer 2006). Travelling in a minibus across the square where the statue stood, I was alerted to its symbolic significance by an Indian Guyanese bus conductor.

Ethnography The above could certainly be considered a piece of ethnographic research. ‘Ethnography’ traditionally refers to the detailed analytical and descriptive studies carried out by anthropologists, often with a focus upon ‘exotic’ cultures. Classic examples include studies in New Guinea, the South Pacific and African countries. However, ethnography has undergone many changes since the time of the seminal studies of, for example, Malinowski or Evans Pritchard. Ethnography has turned its focus onto the everyday culture at ‘home’, while still retaining and using the guidelines for participant observation drawn up in the classic ‘exotic’ studies.Toren (1996) stresses that in ethnography the intensity of involvement and participation in the lives of others is as important as the role played by observation, and everything can be significant because the most potentially mundane and everyday activities can be as revealing as the spectacular ceremonies and rituals (which often seem like the mainstay of anthropology to lay perceptions). As Toren explains: The idea is that everyone, everywhere, including ourselves, is the locus of relations in which we engage with others and in which others engage with us. So, however small and circumscribed the situation upon which the ethnographer initially focuses, it will inevitably prove to have ramifying implications in respect of collective processes that go well beyond that initial focus. (1996: 104) Willis and Trondman (2002: 394) emphasise the essential ‘this-ness’ and ‘lived-out-ness’ of ethnographic accounts. Further, they underline the importance of capturing embodied

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 65 knowledge of ‘“the nitty-gritty” of everyday life, of how “the meat is cut close to the bone” in ordinary cultural practices’ (ibid.: 398). Turning this scrutiny on our own ‘home’ environments is more difficult because the everyday, taken-for-granted aspects of our culture are particularly difficult to recognise and observe. The ability of visual depictions to capture these seemingly unremarkable signs of everyday life is one of the particular strengths of visual ethnography. As Torrens suggests, it is the unremarkable details that may later provide more profound ramifications, demonstrating the coherence and intersubjective meanings of the groups under examination. One such example could be the image below (Figure 2.3). The rhythms of everyday life which we become so accustomed to that they seem hardly worth noting. But, here my parents’ weekly ritual of preparing apples to stew for their breakfast is one of those small moments of the weekly routine which when seen together create a mosaic of their life. It is the lived reality of life, sometimes satisfying, sometimes, no doubt, tedious, that does indeed go beyond what seems initially a trivial focus. Willis and Trondman’s description is telling, as it speaks of a penetrating perception into the grain of individuals and their lived experience.The quotidian elements that make up our everyday lives may seem too commonplace to take note of, but it is exactly the quantum of these events which captures our lives. In addition, these details of the micro-environments we are researching may include documents which circulate within an organisation, graffiti or a piece of street art on the walls of a particular neighbourhood, images or signs pinned up in a workplace, a resurrected statue in a post-colonial nation (or the manner in which such a statue becomes a bone of contention for a whole community), the décor and favourite objects chosen by a particular family in a suburban street. Ethnography can be understood as essentially a reflexive project. The challenge is ‘to grasp the native point of view, his reaction to his life, to realise his vision of his world’ (Malinowski 1961: 25), but this vision must be ‘from the vantage point of everyday life’ (Jenkins 2008: 5). The importance of the impact of political and cultural changes and

Figure 2.3 Peeling the Bramleys (2012)

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66 Visual Research and Social Realities how these are expressed through daily lives, interactions and representational forms of a group or groups is the stuff of ethnography. The problem is how ethnographers can possibly access and understand these in the terms of their own culture. There is an implied reflexivity in much ethnography which makes it a far cry from traditions of positivism which attempted to objectify the research encounter and bring back a description intact; untainted by the researcher’s distorting subjectivity. To present an interpretation of the social context, not as an artefact to be filed away, but as part of a living social context, makes the traditional positivist divide between the observer and the observed impossible. As Pink suggests, ethnography is intimately linked to subjectivity, and reflexivity is a central feature of the process: not simply a mechanism that neutralises ethnographers’ subjectivity as collectors of data through an engagement with how their presence may have affected the reality observed and the data collected. Indeed, the assumption that a reflexive approach will aid ethnographers to produce objective data represents only a token and cosmetic engagement with reflexivity that wrongly supposes subjectivity could (or should) be avoided or eradicated. Instead, subjectivity should be engaged with as a central aspect of ethnographic knowledge, interpretation and representation. (Pink 2007: 23) Embracing the subject position of the researcher has become more acceptable following the postmodern critique of ethnography as always a construction, a ‘fiction’, merely the ethnographer’s version of reality (see e.g.Tyler in Clifford and Marcus 1986), but the effect of postmodern theorising, as Dickens and Fontana (2004: 220) argue, is to strengthen ethnography rather than to dismiss it: ‘postmodernism broadens the field of ethnography by accentuating awareness of research practices, problematising the role of the ethnographer as author, and drawing attention to ethnographic reporting procedures’. It may be that the critical effect of postmodern thinking has had some positive outcomes. One is to call for a greater scrutiny of the ethnographer’s motives and practice, particularly in terms of the asymmetry of power relations. This is noticeable in visual ethnography where there has been a great deal of criticism of the objectivist vision of the other which was commonplace up to the 1970s. There are many examples of static, stereotyped images of indigenous people (as discussed earlier) rendered voiceless and devoid of active subject status in the process of representation, passively posed for the eye of the camera. Examples of this imperialist cataloguing are abundant and reflect thinking in the social sciences which still laboured under the sign of the colonial project. Reflexivity as a feature of qualitative research methods in the social sciences is a relatively new phenomenon, and one that still comes under fire from the positivist criticism (see Denzin 2009).The interpretation of other cultures is an intersubjective process, in which the subject positions of the researcher and the informants both contribute to the account. Sarah Pink makes this point clearly when she suggests that: ‘It is not solely the subjectivity of the researcher that may shade his or her understanding of reality, but the relationship between the subjectivities of researcher and informants that produces a negotiated version of reality’ (Pink 2007: 24). The importance of an approach which allows for more careful interaction and does not assume meaning from visual spectacles of the other, but from an intersubjective examination of visual phenomena, is illustrated nicely by the work of Bernard Siegel (Collier and Collier 1986: 127–30). Siegel’s study of contemporary indigenous American culture (the Picuris Pueblo in New Mexico) revealed that the aspect of culture which had most

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 67 engaged previous anthropological researchers, the elaborately costumed ritual of the ‘deer dance’, was of less interest to the group than a running race which was held annually at the same time. Siegel discovered this by actively using the images of these events in interviews and eliciting responses to them from the Picuris. Collier states that not only does this correct the anthropological misdiagnosis about a ceremonial event which had appeared to take centre stage because of its ubiquitous visual nature. The aspect of timeworn tradition in the trappings of costume and masks, the complex theatre of dance and the use of symbols are powerful themes in the understanding of traditional oral cultures which are the stuff of traditional anthropology. Only by using the photographs of these two events in interviews was their true importance revealed. The deer dance, with its opportunities for rich cultural signification, would ‘trap the eye’ of the anthropologist, giving a distorted view. ‘Photographs by themselves do not necessarily provide information or insight.Without Siegel’s disciplined use of the photographs, nothing would have come of them’ (Collier and Collier 1986: 129). This example demonstrates the importance of combining several approaches to counteract a tendency to look through one narrow disciplinary discourse. Images without the proper contextual knowledge can be opportunities for simply affirming incorrect assumptions.

Case Studies There is considerable controversy around the case study; is it a broad strategy or a specific method? Can it be viable to focus on a bounded microcosm of society? Can any valid inferences be drawn from a case or cases to inform broader questions about a specific phenomenon? By its very nature the case is a unique instance, an integrated and usually welldefined and bounded system.The value of cases is not to try and generalise to a population, but their capability in uncovering causal paths and mechanisms and, through richness of detail, to identify causal influences and interaction (Garson 2008). It is debatable how far case study results can be indicative of more general trends in social phenomena as by their nature they examine specific instances in detail.Yin (2003) explains that it is a mistake to try and select a ‘representative’ case or set of cases, because: ‘The problem lies in the very notion of generalising to other case studies. Instead, the analyst should try to generalise to “theory” analogous to the way a scientist generalises from experimental results to theory’ (Yin 2003: 38). Therefore, the criticism of case study research, namely that the results are not widely applicable in real life, can be refuted because analytical generalisations are appropriate and make good use of the in-depth specificity of the case study. It is clear from this short description of the case study that there are fundamental differences between ethnography and the case study. The case study is an instance in the flow of social life: scrutinised from different angles and providing critical insights into theoretical explanations for social phenomena. Case studies may be considered to have different intentions from ethnography:‘Ethnography is inward looking, aiming to uncover the tacit knowledge of culture participants. Case study is outward looking, aiming to delineate the nature of phenomena through detailed investigation of individual cases and their contexts’ (Cohen 2003: i). Yet, case studies frequently use ethnographic approaches to test or generate theoretical explanations; setting boundaries to the project perhaps based on an event or a local situation. In the discussion about ethnography above it is suggested that clustering information from different sources gives the specific case under scrutiny greater validity. However, this begs

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68 Visual Research and Social Realities the question as to whether an outsider can merely act as conduit for other social realities, and, as the above suggests, present raw experience of other cultures. It would be naïve in the extreme to suggest that recording voices, stories and aspects of daily life is done without researcher bias. Perhaps the purpose of research is rather to mediate between different constructions of social reality. The researcher’s own construction of reality is inevitably part of the description. Ideally, the resulting account ‘allows interpretations and influences to pass in both directions’ (Davies 1999: 6). Case studies can be described as an ‘umbrella term for a family of research methods having in common the decision to focus on enquiry around an instance in action’ (Adelman et al. 1980: 49, italics added).The action basis of the cases chosen is important, as it lifts the discussion of processes, historical, cultural, social and political, out of the often abstract context of scholarly literature and canons of thought, into the lived reality.The theoretical literature is important, but as discussed above, many students struggle to comprehend theoretical concepts. Cases give voice to the experience of oppression, discrimination, or equally, liberation and realised identity, of real people. These ‘instances in action’ are compelling and create a vivid context for theoretical discourses; especially when the account is supported by visual and audio recording in context. The idea that a piece of work is either valid or not should be reconsidered; instead of conceiving of a ‘state of validity’ as the starting point, it is more useful to be engaged with a process of ‘validating’. As Kvale suggests, it is never an either/or situation: ‘The quest for absolute certain knowledge is replaced by a conception of defensible knowledge claims’ (Kvale 1995: 19–40).The well-rounded approach which employs visual evidence in places as a complement to other forms of knowledge certainly provides a more trustworthy understanding of a complex situation.The use of images in this way encourages a carefully analytical and collaborative practice. Weaving together the elements in a complex case is akin to developing skill in a craft (Barbour 2007; Rose 2007) and validation might be seen as a measure of the quality of craftsmanship in research (Polkinghorne 1983). Since the discussion has led to considering how what is reckoned as the ‘real’ so often guides the approach to epistemology, it is important to recall the implicit problem. In a critical realist approach, epistemology and ontology remain unconnected because ‘the real are the unobservable mechanisms that cause events’. This is the critical realist solution to tackling an objective reality which may exist but outside of human symbolic constructions of language or scientific models; while our research has to continue in the communicative codes we have at our disposal.

Representation While still fitting within the broad remit of ethnography, the fourth ‘R’ allows a broader field of analysis. Harper (2005) suggests the use of imagery in cultural studies analyses is a form of ‘indirect ethnography’ because it taps into the wider culture; the style and texture and values of everyday social reality. For example, teenage magazines from the 1970s, women’s magazines from the 1950s or a copy of a men’s magazine in the late 1990s: imagery from each of these evokes a sense of the mediated values of the era, the politics of gender and popular culture scripted as appropriate or popular at the time.There is an obvious overlap between ‘researcher-found’ and representational imagery, except that the former is usually found in the narrower case under examination and the latter is part of the broader manifestation of the culture. The use of found images and their subtexts and contradictions can reveal volumes about historical, political, social and moral values of the time. Images from popular

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 69 culture, cinema, TV, advertising and postcards can show social construction at work and the accretion of meanings around visual forms. A sense of intertextuality is vital in understanding the metaphorical and metonymic use of visual forms to explain an issue, showing how images and cultural objects are nomadic and are changed and reinterpreted for different social users. The visual researcher becomes attuned to the realm of representation and to the construction of sign systems which affirm, regulate and reproduce social values and identities (see discussion on symbols of identity in Chapter 4). Using images can be much more than a ‘largely redundant visual representation of something already described in the text’ (Banks 2001: 44); using visuals to describe elements within the text may add depth and emphasis to a written description. Also, as Rose (2007: 239) suggests, the inclusion of imagery as an excessive and supplemental element to the research, where it is not a feature directly anchored to the text, may allow the images to reveal their unique qualities. Certainly, these are ‘methods which give more space to the photographs themselves to have their own, perhaps rather unpredictable effects in the research process’ (ibid.: 247). Rose’s observation is significant; it does indeed appear that images are not immediately exhausted; there is a sort of slow release of meaning, and this may lead to revision or reconsideration of research findings. Arguably, when research data diverges from expectations, this could be claimed to demonstrate greater validity (see Ratcliff 1995), and a more vigorously inductive approach, rather than one which merely discovers what was expected. Longer research trajectories might also provide opportunities for the resonances of imagery to gradually unfold within the research. Banks notes the importance of ‘letting images breathe’ (Banks 2009). An image can have long-term effects on how other research data are interpreted as it reveals perhaps unexpected significance. So far it seems that visual methods offer some unique insights not readily accessible to traditional methods, and further that through active ‘image work’ a critical ‘sociological eye’ (Hughes 1971) can be developed to perceive visual displays as intrinsically significant signs of the way society is ordered. How then can visual research become an integral part of qualitative methodologies? In the discussion below, the broad importance of phenomenology is discussed with its exhortation to pursue an empirical approach and reach into the nature of the world rather than assume embedded understanding of how things work. Then some broad methodologies which flow from this epistemological basis are discussed: ethnography, case studies and narrative research with focus on how visual methods might make a significant contribution. It must be pointed out that these methodologies are not mutually exclusive; indeed, they can be combined, complementary or nested. For example, a case study approach may focus on a phenomenon and explore this through narratives elicited by an ethnographic approach. However, the discussion below will focus on the characteristic features of each approach and demonstrate some visual approaches which might enhance the validity and allow valuable insight into the social world.

Narrative Research Stories surround us, not only in novels, films, memoirs and other cultural forms which explicitly present themselves in terms of stories, but also in therapeutic encounters, newspaper articles, social theories and just the everyday ways in which people make sense of all of the discrete and diverse elements of a life. (Lawler 2007: 32)

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70 Visual Research and Social Realities Narrative visual research covers a range of approaches to using single or multiple images. However, the theoretical underpinning of narrative approaches suggests that meaning typically involves telling a story; the story is usually in words but it may also include images. I have included a summary of some of the strands of narratology to illustrate the idea that cultural representations follow typical narrative principles. Images are, however, very different from words. There is no language of images and their meanings are notoriously prone to different interpretations. Meanings are not fixed and it is how individuals interpret them or the sequences they find between images which often produce revealing understandings about their lives and the context in which they live and work. Narratives are a basic means of making sense of reality and working to structure and give order to events. All societies have them: ‘they are “simply there, like life itself ” ’ (Fiske 1989: 128). Structuralist thinkers like anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss and Russian Formalist Vladimir Propp theorised a deep level of core structural principles which produced all narrative forms. Propp (1927), for example, analysed 100 folk tales and showed that they all conformed to the identical narrative structure; he identified thirty-one narratemes (narrative units) that comprised the structure of many of the stories. Fiske demonstrated that these universal themes are present in British and American TV shows; dramas and soap operas interestingly show close conformance to their underlying structural morphology. Fiske claims that ‘the cultural specificity or ideology of a narrative lies in the way this deep structure is transformed into apparently different stories, that is, in which actions and individuals are chosen to perform the functions and character roles’ (Fiske 1989: 138). This is similar to the division which structuralist Ferdinand de Saussure theorised between the langue and the parole. The langue denotes a system of generative rules like a grammar and the parole is the particular variety, utterance or story which is manifested from these underlying rules. Some narrative structures are widely influential within western culture, as Fiske (1987) in Television Culture sets out to show that there are unspoken conventions which make up news ‘stories’ and other televisual genres. Narrative themes structure and sequence visual as well as language-based texts. Whether the text is Romeo and Juliet, a sixteenth-century romantic play, or Star Wars, a science fiction film from the 1980s, underlying narrative themes are what give them meaning and relevance (they are composed from the same deep structural elements). TV news imposes its own narratives on world events, often from an ideological or ethnocentric perspective.Visual research can examine the influence of the media we are exposed to. Researchers have examined how the multiple narratives of news programmes, documentaries and advertising might influence the viewing public. For example, Greg Philo and the Glasgow University Media Group (GUMG) demonstrated the manner in which visual narratives appear to condition perceptions of how we think about social events. Philo’s method used a series of twelve still photographs depicting scenes from the 1984– 85 miners’ strike, with the objective of examining audience perception of the events and their likely order and portrayal in the news (Philo 1989). Jenny Kitzinger (1994) developed this technique in ‘the news game’, in which news images are used as prompts for focus group work – the images which are on cards are arranged in order by the respondents to tell stories, and again appear to demonstrate the individual’s recognition of habitual narratives which may have been internalised. Philo and Kitzinger found that the way in which individuals arranged the images to represent the story as they imagined it had been reported tended to reproduce the heavily one-sided reporting, portraying

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 71 the miners as violent aggressors rather than victims. This technique revealed the power of the news, suggesting to people: the order in which to think about events and issues. In other words it ‘sets the agenda,’ decides what is important and what will be featured. More crucially it very largely decides what people will think with:TV controls the crucial information with which we make up our mind about the world. (Philo et al. 1982: 1) Such approaches contribute a significantly original perspective to the understanding of media messages, drawing on ideas of narrative and using images to highlight the many possible meanings available and the restricted readings imposed by, for example, mainstream news channels. Creative use of visual materials can be used to explore the process of making sense of a scene, and examine the complex process of attributing meaning to visual cues. Allmark’s photograph (Figure 2.4) positions a newspaper in an everyday setting. Such images could be used to reveal the manner in which we make sense of images and fit them into our existing framework of knowledge; they are complex semiotic commentaries on the pervasiveness of the media in our understanding of serious social and political issues. When presented with these images, students tend to speculate on the intended meanings of the images and extend the contexts into narratives, demonstrating the shared (and divergent) codes by which we read such images (see Spencer 2007). In the image below, the oblique visual cues are anchored by the newspaper, which seems to take a central role, and the headline shapes our perception. The timing of this particular narrative is significant. Perhaps, when the image was first seen in 2006, the headline, title and context would have overwhelmingly led us to interpret this as referring to the

Figure 2.4 ‘After the Incidents, No. 1’, by Panizza Allmark (2006)

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72 Visual Research and Social Realities London Underground ‘7/7’ bombs of 7 July 2005. However, seventeen years later, the image may have begun to drift from its original contextual moorings: could it be talking about the violence which erupted during the 2009 G20 demonstrations in London, or even the mayoral race, congestion charges, another gun or knife crime, or some other story? And now at the time of writing perhaps it refers to Boris Johnson’s ‘Freedom Day’ (19 July 2021) where we are told all Covid restrictions will come to an end, and individuals must take responsibility for their own behaviour; although the mayor of London retained the rule about wearing masks on public transport. Cresswell (2007) suggests several types of narrative research, pointing out the division between ‘analysis of narratives’, in which generic themes are recognised across stories or groups of certain kinds of stories, and ‘narrative analysis’, in which descriptions of events or occurrences are gathered and then constructed into a story with an abiding theme or plot. In Sarah Atkinson’s work Crossed Lines (2002–07, see Part II) an ingenious experiment was used to examine people’s pattern of engagement with dramatic video narratives. Using an interactive video setting, people select the video sequences they are drawn to and in effect generate the narrative thread through their choices. Her work examines the complex ways in which people interact with visual narratives, monitoring their eye movement and times spent on each of nine interlinked narratives. The suggestion behind this study, which again straddles the boundary between art and empirical enquiry, is that the nature of television viewing contrasts with other scopic regimes, tending ‘to be fractured and distracted as viewers multi-task in their home environments and the television is no longer the sole focus of their attention’. Atkinson’s work provides potential for narrative investigation which could focus both on the nature of specific narratives, deep structures which cross generic boundaries, and the engagement and use of narratives by different people. The construction of visual narratives is complex and depends on a negotiation of possible meanings.The ‘raw’ narratives recorded are often usefully linked to broader regional, national or global narratives. Specific stories gathered within a case reveal a narrative fabric, a sense of lived experience which amplifies and deepens the features of a specific case study. While narratives may be criticised as anecdotal, stage-managed, rehearsed or fictional, this does not suggest they are invalid. The ultimate value of a story rests not on rigorous verification of facts in the narrative, but rather on their ‘communicative validity’; building a context in which the telling is meaningful. In each of the examples below the narrative and the imagery (these are stills from short video pieces; interviews interspersed with archive and popular culture imagery) there is an interplay between the images and places and the spoken words; seeing the speakers recount their experiences gives a powerful sense of the visual context of the interview. 1. In the first case an Aboriginal community leader comments on the community he represents. It is one of the most marginalised and neglected in the western world.The difficult conditions of the camp where the interview took place enhanced the immediacy of the situation to the audience. In the first sequence below (Spencer 2005) the speaker compared the conditions and treatment of a group of indigenous Australians at One Mile Dam in Darwin, to a form of ‘ethnic cleansing’. His use of this term in the setting of the run-down camp near Darwin city centre reflected the desperate

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 73 living conditions and noticeable lack of support from the civic services given to other city residents. The point was not to examine his use of this term in any literal fashion as semantically accurate or inaccurate, but as a comment made in the immediate context. In addition, the comment needs to be seen in the broader context of the history of dispossession and constant removal of land. The traditional lands of indigenous Australians which were more fertile were seized by settlers as prime grazing land for sheep and cattle; this often led to the indigenous population suffering banishment to more inhospitable areas at pain of death.

‘I read somewhere during the Bosnian war … I think about “ethnic cleansing” well I’m beginning to think that that’s what’s happening here. It must be some kind of ethnic cleansing.’ (Mr Timber, the Coordinator of the Kumbutjil Association at One Mile Dam – 2005, from Spencer 2004) Mr Timber passed away in 2016. He had been the most active advocate of the One Mile Dam site and constantly petitioned government and other agencies for support and resistance to the plans for eviction so that the small site could be developed for luxury flats.

Figure 2.5 Kumbutjil sign

‘I’m trying to cope with everything, with him passing on and about this whole land here at One Mile Dam, because we know that Government’s been trying for a long time to take this place’, she said. (Mr Timber’s daughter Rosemary as reported by ABC News, Jacqueline Breen, One Mile Dam community leader Mr Timber dies amid uncertainty over camp future (posted Wednesday 23 March 2016 at 8:54am) This sign was posted up outside the community as part of the Howard government’s 2007 ‘Intervention policy’ suggesting child abuse and alcohol problems were endemic in aboriginal communities. No evidence was given to support this claim. It was an action which heightened the sense of neglect and demonisation.

Figure 2.6 Intervention sign7 (Pariah website)

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Figure 2.7 Interview with Malcolm Cumberbatch, political sociologist Source: Spencer and Radley 2006.

‘So, you saw this whole kind of change of things, and when you get to the point, now, you actually can see an area like Broomhall, where we’re sitting now, this was like the epicentre of the Black community – you would never know that nowadays. And we’re not talking about 15, 20, 30 years ago – we’re talking between 10 and 7 years ago … you know? This was the epicentre of the Black community. The police saw that, the government, the council saw that. And they started moving, ripping down estates, and moving these people in all these different directions: now you’ve got Burngreave, now you’ve got Parkhill.You talk to the people there and they all say – we used to live in Broomhall. Now what’s this done to this community? – it’s left a big gaping hole, where a whole bunch of people that grew up together – partook in events, carnivals, and all the rest of it together, are disenfranchised from each other.’

‘I walked the streets evening after evening in the darkness, reading newsagent’s windows to see if I could get a new flat, a new room, stuff like that. And sometimes it would say: “No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs”. Or sometimes you’d get “Blacks need not apply.” – it was firmly saying that you weren’t welcome. But and then there were the more insidious ones … the ones where it didn’t say anything, but you went, and got the door slammed in your face as soon as they saw who it was. Or if you rang and they didn’t realise what voice or accent it was, and they’d say well come in, and you went and when they saw it was you – you got the racist treatment – I think that was probably the worst.’

Figure 2.8 Lloyd (senior community worker and broadcaster, 2006)

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Figure 2.9 Lloyd speaking fifteen years later, Sheffield Peace Gardens, 2021

‘She came over in 58 I think with her Mum – yeah in the late 50s early 60s. The weirdest thing was she got naturalised got her citizenship in that building right there a couple of years ago (indicates the Sheffield Town Hall). We just found it the most ridiculous situation. That she’d been here, raised kids, you know all of us are professionals, and all of a sudden, her identity’s been challenged and her nationality and citizenship’s been challenged, because she hadn’t filled out a piece of paper that they kind of snuck out into the public and you know if you weren’t connected to a community centre or a black advisory group you wouldn’t have known you had to fill out this bloody form. Or if you couldn’t afford it – that was another factor – you know 50 years on when your citizenship is being challenged – it beggars belief.’

Hence the circumstances in which the term ‘ethnic cleansing’ is used have a long history which needs to be recognised. In terms of the residents’ struggle against eviction from the One Mile Dam site, the situation is still precarious, with threats of the lease being given to developers and residents of forty years or more being evicted (see Saunders and Binge 2020). 2. In another example of an expressive video narrative, a colleague, originally from Barbados, recounted the story of his arrival in the UK in the early 1960s. The impact of these painful experiences was strengthened by an articulate and moving video presentation. One can only imagine the sense of anticipation and hope of new arrivals from British colonies in the Caribbean, while the narrative expressed the dashed hopes of many who had been expecting ‘an open-arms welcome’ only to be confronted with the dispiriting reality of inner-city racism. 3. Here is a still from an interview with a younger, second-generation African Caribbean man, talking about the disintegration of his community in Sheffield (Figure 2.8).While these visual narratives successfully convey personal experiences, lived conditions and identities, all of these accounts link historically to wider social and cultural meanings. Indeed, they demonstrate the ‘sociological imagination’ at work, putting the microcosm of the individual’s personal milieu into a wider dialectical context, suggesting links beyond the local to other times and other places and resonances within the broader cultural framework. 4. As a follow up I interviewed Lloyd fifteen years later. The issue that arose here is the impact of Home Office policies on the Caribbean community and on his own family. In this case it could be argued that the treatment received has further alienated communities and encouraged a mistrust of officialdom. Little wonder then that many in the African Caribbean community were reluctant, at least initially, to take up the Covid vaccine.

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76 Visual Research and Social Realities The situation in these cases shows a remarkable continuity over time suggesting that divisive policies stem from deeply embedded prejudices. However, although these sequences captured the discussion of crucial events in the lives of different subjects, they are multimodal rather than purely visual narratives.To really use visual narrative research, one would explore the visual narrative links between images in a sequence. And just as participants replicated dominant narratives in the randomised images they were given by the GUMG, the sequence chosen tells the story of their lives and perhaps of their culture at that point in time. Over fifteen years later, the lines of the narrative and the optics may be different, but the same issues are as prevalent as ever. Indeed, Windrush has been in the news for several years because of a ‘scandal’ in which the government of the time pursued a so-called ‘hostile environment’ policy, making life as uncomfortable as possible for many older Caribbean people and their families. These people entered the country in the 1950s or 1960s as British citizens (citizens of the Commonwealth, of empire) but without formal documentation. Consequently, in 2012, the Home Secretary Theresa May set wheels in motion to strip these people of their rights to live and work in the UK. This included threats of being deported to countries many had no knowledge of, having entered UK as children and made their lives here for over sixty years; loss of benefits, of hospital treatment; and just the general uncertainty of their existence succeeded in making this a ‘hostile environment’ for them. May said at the time: ‘The aim is to create, here in Britain, a really hostile environment for illegal immigrants.’ When the scandal was exposed and the damage reflected on, some compensation was made, but for some this was too little or too late (some victims had died without receiving compensation). The power of visual narrative accounts was also explored in several video interviews with academics and community members (two of the latter shown above) for a video project examining discourses of multiculturalism (Spencer and Radley 2006), and the resulting video material has been used with students to help illustrate complex theoretical ideas about the reality of multiculture and cultural hybridity, and the disavowal of multiculturalism by politicians in favour of assimilationist views and racism. Watching academics talking passionately about their subject areas added drama and life to an account of something which when written in a textbook can appear far less engaging and is often couched in language constrained by narrow, academic conventions of the disciplines in question. Similarly, watching real people from communities talk about their lived experiences was refreshing for students, when, by contrast, written commentaries from ‘the community’ can seem like abstract truisms. There are also questions of how actively involved in the research participants should be. Several authors have suggested that this is a negotiated relationship of mutual learning. Marcia Langton (1993: 33), discussing the western constructions of Aboriginality, suggested that we ought to think about Aboriginality as ‘a field of intersubjectivity in that it is remade over and over again in a process of dialogue, of imagination, of representation and interpretation’. Such negotiations are an example of ‘intersubjectivity’ by which a level of understanding between parties can overcome legacies of ingrained prejudice. Within the participant’s story may be epiphanies or dramatic turning points: ‘in the end, the narrative study tells the story of individuals unfolding in a chronology of their experiences, set within their personal, social and historical context, and including the important themes in those experiences’ (Cresswell 2007: 57). Reflexively, the research also traces a journey for researchers as they navigate between their (often gendered or ethnocentric) assumptions, theoretical literature and the empirical

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 77 data uncovered. As Willis and Trondman (2002) suggest, ethnographic research needs to find a balance between raw empirical data and abstract theoretical paradigms, both of which can supply fresh and surprising insights (their ‘aha’ effect: ibid.: 399). Such a balance requires a constant interplay between induction and deduction. Similarly, images can be understood as immediate sensory data, but their value can be further unlocked as the semiotic relationships within them are deconstructed, resonating with the wider socio-cultural and political meanings of society. From the examples given above it is clear that other forms of visual research could have a role to play: life histories and oral histories may draw inspiration and be punctuated by key images for example, from a family album; building the historical context of values and beliefs could be enhanced through clusters of archive images. Certainly, such accounts could be transcribed and read, but the visual power of these narratives is considerable because of their immediacy, non-verbal emotion and explicitness of context; images build up a feeling of the lived reality of the individual or group in question. To consider visual ethnography as a collaborative quest, to expose what one might consider oppressive conditions and, in some way, bring about collective action, may be overly optimistic. Faris (1992) suggests that we are deluding ourselves if we believe that by mere presentation on video or film our audiences will understand the conditions or be roused to take action. In this view, film or video (and indeed the project of anthropology itself) is of questionable value because: ‘The subject of ethnographic film will always be object, no matter who does the filming, so long as we are the viewers. The West is now everywhere, within the West and outside, in structures, minds and technologies’ (Faris 1992: 178). This is an important criticism to take into account and one which at the very least suggests that video projects call for careful preplanning to create a more long-term and collaborative approach (for a discussion of this see Spencer 2006:177–8). Nevertheless, the dilemma of ethnographic film could still be argued to be as Faris suggests an implicit us-and-them division between the subjects and audiences of visual ethnographies. Instead of preserving the objectification, the point is surely to ‘obliterate otherness while preserving difference’ (Faris 1992: 174). However, it seems overly pessimistic to judge the ‘we’ in Faris’s argument to be so homogeneous; this might be more the case for classic anthropological ethnography, but for small pieces of case study work, which discuss urban multicultural issues, the audience may already be diverse, and such ethnographies may address familiar issues which inform their everyday experiences. Having made some video interviews with indigenous Australians, after presenting short excerpts at a conference, I became acutely aware of Faris’s critique. There is a stark cultural divide between indigenous and non-indigenous groups. Indeed, one audience member at the conference suggested (after viewing the video) that its emphasis on the conditions of urban indigenous people in Darwin played to the ‘victimist gaze’. In other words, the video portrays the group in question from a dominant, white, middle-class perspective, and could be seen as another link in the chain of oppression and domination; merely affirming the ‘other’s’ place as a subordinated subject and making cultural capital from their condition. Conversely, while it was certainly true that the audiences at conferences were far removed from the people portrayed and in danger of affirming a dominant white gaze, I argued that perhaps this unpolished video’s contribution was to examine and undermine this perception by focusing on the constraining discursive construction and misrecognition of the group as a static, primordial culture.3 Primarily, of course, case studies tend to look within a narrow time frame and focus on specific communities. However, the changes in cases over longer time periods are

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78 Visual Research and Social Realities often revealing. Cases might be usefully revisited, building on the initial study and noting changes as well as continuities. Theoretical explanations tended to emerge as the stories, observations and representations of different community groups began to build up, rather than being pre-emptively imposed upon the data. As understanding of the complexity of the case progresses, the theoretical models used originally may seem less adequate and other paradigms may be needed to explain what is being observed. It seems there are benefits in a more flexible approach which vacillates between induction and deduction. In other words, an ability to think on one’s feet rather than doggedly pursuing a theoretical ‘line’ may maintain higher validity. Also, in the case of video, while lacking the depth of careful ethnographic immersion, there is nevertheless powerful immediacy and one can spend longer afterwards discussing and considering the visual material; it took months before the short sequences were understood in the light of the complex dynamics of the situation in Darwin and the resonances with historical circumstances.

Video: Intersubjective Strategies It is important to consider video or still images as texts which are constructed rather than as some form of direct conduit into other cultures, but this raises the issue of how the researcher conveys the produced nature of the text. There was a trend (which still has much to recommend it) of striving for transparency by exposing the process of construction rather than presenting the film as a seamless vision carried out before an open and impartial eye. However, the problem with ethnographic film, as with other media, is that the lack of supporting contextual cues along with the conventional closed structure of the documentary film may render the message overly simple. Too many documentaries offer only portrayals which focus on exotic customs, very much as the objects of interest. Just as in wildlife documentaries, the portrayal of animals is frequently reduced to anthropomorphic narratives. Some ethnographic film resists the tendency to interpret other cultures through dominant ethnocentric narratives, and attempts to reduce the asymmetry between the observed other and the film-maker. Fieldwork should be a two-way engagement in which the subjectivity of the ‘other’ has the opportunity for self-assertion and the political nature of the definition of ‘otherness’ would be exposed and thereby open to resistance, negotiation and redefinition. Finally, the field-writes – the ethnographies themselves – ought to be presented in dialogue style more reflective of the dialectic process of fieldwork and the construction of knowledge itself, rather than one-sided displays of data and too tidy conclusions. (Warren 1982) By revealing the complex voices and subjectivities of individuals there is engagement with how knowledge is produced; an interplay of the lived experience of participants with the researcher’s personal, reflexive and theoretical reading of the context. Examples of this more reflexive approach follow from the work of pioneers like anthropologist/film-maker Jean Rouch (1954, 1959) to more recent examples like Jacka and Petkovic’s (2000) study of the ‘floating’ itinerant population of women

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 79 in provincial China, in which the authors set out to present a case where a relatively powerless group is given the opportunity to express themselves with little mediation. Active negotiation of cultural viewpoints opens up the possibility of ethnographic video which avoids the ‘othering’ of its subjects by better embracing an intersubjective approach. Muecke commented on significant theoretical advances in a framework developed by Marcia Langton to address the cultural negotiation needed when attempting to understand and communicate aboriginality in a less one-sided way. Both white Australian and Aboriginal identities are: constantly renegotiated according to a triple schema: One: Aboriginal people negotiating with each other in the context of Aboriginal cultures; Two: the stereotyping and mythologising of Aboriginal people by unknowledgeable whites; Three: A dialogue situation in which both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people participate in a mutual construction of identities. (1993: 3) This active schema encourages consciousness not just about the storyline, the content of the film – but equally importantly the ‘narratives about production (what we think we are doing)’ (Muecke 1994). Recognising this process of negotiation is of great assistance, not just from the viewpoint of a fairly untutored film-maker, but also the implications it has at the ‘receiving end’ for the theoretical framework we wish to articulate to audiences; it might assist in enabling thought about the reflexive nature of video as a medium rather than a static portrayal of ethnicity as a picture of a distant reality. A strategy with this level of awareness, while more demanding, could be a great deal more rewarding for showing the development and synthesis of cultural identities. Further, there is a key issue here drawing a line underneath the positivist views of what constitutes method and the traditional striving for supposedly ‘value-free’ research. Experience of working with different groups, as discussed, suggests that embracing subjectivity is not only permissible when examining how knowledge is constructed in communities; it is essential. It appears that there are positive signs in the way an explosion of new technologies is giving some marginalised people a voice, enabling activism and bringing about accelerated change. Seeliga et al. (2021) argue that we are in a new era of greater advocacy and activism enabled by a fusion of technology and commitment to social change, with tech-savvy advocates creating a flow of dialogue and bringing about change in local arenas. In the wake of the 2008 banking crisis, an era characterised by largely hegemonic neo-liberalism, which some had dubbed ‘post-politics’, there have been a raft of social movements (Occupy, Five Star, Movements of the Squares, etc.) which demonstrate a renewal of ‘the political’ (see Bluhdorn and Deflorian 2021). ‘By shifting emphasis from a one-way transmission of information comparable to traditional media, emerging technology and digital media altered the capacity for people to interact with others’ (Seeliga et al. 2021: 26). The fact that many of the movements (including many Not For Profit) and the heightened pace of advocacy can be as much about conservative nationalism as about overthrow of capitalism and corporate monopoly, demonstrates that the forms of advocacy may be influential but they are reproducing social fracture lines.

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Awakening Vision: Developing Visual Research in Sociology In a paper written nearly twenty years ago, Eric Margolis (2004) raises the question of whether there is a sociological look or gaze which envisions the social world through its unique discursive perspective: I am asking first if visual sociology constitutes a scientific “paradigm” as Kuhn defined it to: ‘include law, theory, application, and instrumentation together and provide models from which spring coherent traditions of scientific research’ (Kuhn 1970: 11).We have instrumentation and application, do we have theories to counter or accommodate the antiocular philosophies? Is visual sociology a mere method like interviewing or counting that contributes data to other paradigms – say, Symbolic Interaction or Critical Theory? Do we have a sociological stare to mimic Foucault’s medical gaze? Are we building an application, a language, a spectacle, a simulacrum? Following Foucault, Jay would ask us to consider how visual sociology develops, by the accretion of sense data – facts and images collected by the social scientific eye? Or is visual sociology primarily a conceptual activity that works with verbal and visual images absent of ‘real verification by sense data’? (Margolis 2004: 388–9) In other words, is visual sociology a perspective which generates theory? Is it a unique and developing discipline in its own right or just a research ‘tool kit’ for other theoretical trends to use? Nearly twenty years later, conferences of the International Visual Sociological Association (IVSA) attract hundreds of researchers from all over the world; a growing number of practitioners producing visual studies in sociology, cultural studies and anthropology as well as social geography and the visual arts; this kaleidoscope of studies question (and frequently transcend) the disciplinary boundaries of a purely sociological vision. While it is important to embrace the interdisciplinary nature of much visual research, the enduring vision of sociology is open enough to admit the insights from a wide range of disciplines. The ‘sociological imagination’ (Mills 1959) frees the individual to see beyond the appurtenances of everyday life in all its trivial details – to observe these aspects of the human world with a transcendent eye; uniting the milieu of the individual with the broader pattern of social and historical processes. ‘The sociological imagination enables its possessor to understand the larger historical scene in terms of its meaning for the inner life and the external career of a variety of individuals’ (1959: 3–10). C.Wright Mills’s famous description of ‘the sociological imagination’ is still a useful touchstone; drawing upon ideas of culture, history, economics and psychology. Ultimately, as Luc Pauwels recently stated: ‘What is needed to be a good visual scholar is not provided in any single discipline’ (Pauwels 2021: 213). Often the act of recording data visually stems from a desire to go out and see what is happening, what people think about issues. While finely tuned theoretical arguments are the life-blood of scholarly debate and research, to avoid theoretical abstraction, merely converting one theoretical argument through the lens of another, ideas need to be tested and challenged in current social contexts, and this is a transdisciplinary process, not a specifically sociological one.

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 81 Active research helps us to better understand and communicate social issues, effectively lifting them away from abstract secondary analyses removed from real life. This retains the relevance of the sociological project and invests theoretical ideas with renewed vigour, recognising fertile examples in everyday life. Concerns about consumerism, war, race/racism, the persistence of colonial values, social exclusion and moral panics are the ‘stock in trade’ of sociology and cultural studies. In addition to reinvigorating theoretical concepts, active visual research breaks through the complicit projection of ‘common sense’; rather like one of those pond skaters trapped on the mirrored surface of the water, we can be held by the surface tension of the everyday; it is difficult to break through and understand by defamiliarising that mirrored reality. Taking this principle of defamiliarising the everyday, consider the city that we so easily become inured to. Walking the city streets with a camera is a reflexive process, a means of developing a more critical eye, to go deeper and unearth visual signs of social divisions and transitions, paradoxes and surprises within the space of the city (see Chapter 3). Seen sociologically, the everyday surfaces of the cities we live in are the mute witnesses of social changes and divisions; the scarred layers of industry and the dereliction and abandonment of deindustrialisation, the over-layering of burgeoning consumerist structures yield hidden realities questioning and collapsing the tacit common-sense view of our everyday surroundings. The visual records of the city provide a valuable resource for teaching and learning if we only learn to look beyond surfaces. Roger Brown’s (Part II) discussion of photographs recognises the importance of ‘drawing attention to the subtle inter-play of observation and aesthetics in their making. To not only what is being described visually but the manner of their visualisation’. This comment again succinctly emphasises the awareness which needs to be developed about the practice of looking and seeing as a dialectical process. Ruptures in the surface of this tacit common sense occur all the time; we encounter images which redefine or question the consensual illusion which sometimes appears so stubbornly, seamlessly in place, partly projected by the circulation of media messages. In the case of ‘multiculturalism’ (Spencer 2006), a piece of small-scale research sought to examine the complex definitions of the term held by members of the public and academics, demonstrating the troubled and contradictory values associated with the term: at one moment implying celebration and inclusion, but also fraught with recriminations and fears about separatism, essentialist politics and lack of cohesion. Significantly, British National Party members adopted the concept of multicultural identity, as they felt it vindicated their platform as a celebration of difference of separate white British identity. Beginning to recognise these fracture lines, the choices for fruitful research became more clearly defined. So, when a wall mural was glimpsed, just a flash of colour as I drove past, it immediately fitted into the developing rationale for the project. The mural (see Figure 2.10), the result of a 1980s community-based arts programme, was indicative of the celebratory discourse about vibrant multi-ethnic communities, perhaps well-meaning, and marking a shift in values from a relatively closed and xenophobic society to one which appears more willing to embrace differences. Today, these faded signs of optimistic cultural celebration mark the dispersal of local communities in the wake of urban change. This mural in 2006 looked like ‘the ghost of multiculturalism past’.The concept of multiculturalism was described in the media and political rhetoric as doomed and tarnished. The image added historical context to the sorts of comments we were recording from

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Figure 2.10 Wall mural, Broomhall, Sheffield (2009)

interviews in the area (including Lloyd’s narrative above), about the dispersal of the black community from Broomhall to be fragmented and forced into pockets of impoverishment around the city margins. Again, such images can act as ‘specified generalisations’. Several facets of research began to mesh serendipitously. Visual approaches open up the exploration of issues; the imagery never stands alone – it has been developed within a framework of community narratives, in this case as a testimony of change. As the research gained momentum, images were collected alongside interview material and interlaced with narratives of identity and change. At the same time further exploration of theoretical ideas was needed to better understand these phenomena and show how sociological thought could shed further light. Certain facets of the issue or concept under scrutiny emerge and snowball, suggesting other examples, modes of analysis and criticism. People from different communities described their experiences, images and scenarios were used as illustrations to elicit impressions and ideas, and, in this way, what initially seemed like solitary visions became part of a complex matrix. Indeed, the level of complexity and depth behind the local circumstances transcends the boundaries of the case study, connecting it with national and global processes of change. This vacillation between examining the stories contained in images, and theoretical concepts, could be criticised as too selective and speculative (especially from a more positivist viewpoint). Have the images been chosen because they fit a presupposition about

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 83 theory? If, as examples, they appear to epitomise the phenomena in question, might they be distorted and dangerously unrepresentative examples which give an unrealistic reading of social realities? However, as a bounded case study they are elements within a specific and complex local context, and hence valid insofar as they can be shown to be a trustworthy representation of the case. One solution to this critique of trimming the body of social examples to fit the theoretical cloth is to examine very varied perceptions of the same ‘body’ and in so doing test and challenge the fit of the ‘cloth’. What constitutes a valid rationale for taking pictures or collating existing images, as forms of data for research? In a recent article, Erica Barbiani (2005) suggests: ‘Taking pictures is, of course, an extremely subjective process, but pictures cannot be taken of just anything that is considered connected to the research, as Harper states: “I repeated as a mantra that pictures should be produced with an image in mind”’ (Harper 1988: 54). However, while it is important to develop a practice which guides the eye to be selective, to consider the validity of the chosen data and proposed outcomes, like any mantra, this might hypnotise, blinding us to the need for an evolving dialectic between empirical research and theoretical paradigm. Much research of the type described is small-scale, case-based and employs multiple methods to provide a composite picture of the phenomenon in question. The ‘image in mind’ which we strive to produce runs parallel and in a mutually informed relationship with the theoretical journey and the developing ability to interpret the visual array of social life. On the importance of realising that at some level photography is a slow release of meaning, Panizza Allmark states: ‘my photography is instinctual. I merely take a photograph because I find the subject interesting.The challenge lies in delving deeper.’ Allmark comments that she has developed a very consciously ‘feminist counter-aesthetic of the uncanny’ (see Part II). This indicates a refined rationale – a specialised view of the world in which the unsettling, ‘unheimlich’ presentation of the social world becomes a way to develop special insight about the world which is more often presented as unproblematic and seamless. Allmark goes on to say that for her, she sees ‘the camera as a defensive utensil against loss of subjectivity’. In other words, far from being a tool of rational objectivity, the camera is used to present artful and provocative visions of social reality uniting personal identity with social forces of change.

Ethics and Visual Research The above discussion of approaches to using images and video in research has made several points which are implicitly about the ethical stance taken by the researcher. That, in fact, taking images without seeking permission is not only a form of ‘outsider arrogance’ but actually a distorting approach to research because it sets up an unbalanced relationship between the researcher and the person or persons ‘captured’ on film. Prosser (2000: 120) makes the point that without rapport between the photographer and the subject, any image, however potentially ground-breaking, is a hollow achievement. Of course, the most dramatic, even sensational images may be of those not wanting their photo taken, but that is no reason for taking photographs. Such actions are not only dishonest, but also counter-productive to the enhancement of sociological knowledge. Ultimately, the reason for not taking photographs of participants if they are hostile to the idea is not a matter of privacy or morality but the likelihood of such action compromising rapport and showing a lack of ‘care for the subject’, a necessity for any researcher hoping to remain in the field. Are there circumstances which might make

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84 Visual Research and Social Realities a less transparent ‘covert’ approach permissible? The British Sociological Association’s code of ethical practice (2017, point 15) states: ‘In some cases, where the public interest dictates otherwise and particularly where power is being abused, obligations of trust and protection may weigh less heavily. Nevertheless, these obligations should not be discarded lightly.’ Perhaps where the researcher is witnessing an extreme act of aggression, like the beating of protesters at a peaceful demonstration, there is an urgency for such a situation to be exposed. Today one thinks immediately of the murder of George Floyd here. Had it not been for the video evidence of 17-year-old Darnella Frazier, the case against Derek Chauvin may not have been proven on all counts. But her video evidence of Chauvin asphyxiating Floyd for 9 minutes and 29 seconds was crucial. In summing up, Steven Schleicher repeated the same phrase on which the prosecution, which had relied heavily on the video evidence, was based. ‘You can believe your eyes’, Schleicher told the jury. Of course, this is an extreme context and far removed from the typical uses of video or photographic research. However, in the case of demonstrations there are potential legal constraints which could also be applied. There are always concerns about taking pictures of police, members of armed forces or intelligence officers. In the UK, this is not necessarily unlawful (if not obstructing police in their actions). However, under the CounterTerrorism Act 2008 (section 76) police have the right to seize items including cameras and phones, and to view images to ascertain if the photographer is involved in terrorism. Another issue might be that posting material during a demonstration on social media might be used by police to identify people at the protest (see the excellent fact sheet from Privacy International 2021). Recently the ethical dimension has received heightened attention partly because of the raft of legislation which is serving to formalise the ethical issues in an area which has been less certain. Data Protection and Anti-Terrorist legislation impose potentially strong constraints on visual researchers. But in 2021 the future of public protest itself is in question in the UK with the surreptitious move to pass the government’s Police Crime Sentencing and Courts Bill, which will give police more powers to curb demonstrations. Much research in the social sciences tends to focus on the relatively powerless, suggesting that a collaborative and transparent approach should be encouraged in the mutual interests of integrity and honesty and presenting a valid representation of social reality. If the premise behind ethnographic uses of video and photography is that we want to empower individuals, as discussed in these first two chapters, this will be difficult or impossible to achieve by covert means. Such an approach could lead to allegations of duping the people you are portraying. The traditions of ethnography in general attract accusations of being another link in the chain of oppression, of perpetuating a ‘victimist gaze’ by the objectification of disadvantage or ‘otherness’. Wiles, Prosser, Bagnoli et al. (2008) and, most recently, Wiles, Coffey, Robinson and Prosser (2010) provide the first framework of its kind, alerting practitioners to the developing ethical and legal framework which should inform practice. These papers reaffirm the well-established criteria for ethical research, namely the importance of protecting dignity, privacy and well-being, insisting on voluntary participation, informed consent and strict confidentiality. These articles go on to examine several thorny issues about applying ethical procedures in visual research, including the problem of anonymising place, techniques for obscuring identity in images, negotiating levels of consent in the use of family photos, or photos

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 85 generated by respondents in research, the storage, security and reuse context of the images, and so on. The 2008 article makes several concluding points which bear some thinking about and which in 2021 still stand up to critical scrutiny: Ethical decisions in research should not be made in isolation but in the context of a thought-through and considered framework that accommodates a researcher’s moral outlook as well as professional guidelines. In the current climate of increasing ethical regulation it is crucial that researchers are able to understand, articulate and argue the ethical or moral case for the decisions they make about the design of their research and the ethical issues that emerge throughout the research process. (Wiles, Prosser, Bagnoli et al. 2008: 34) The ethics of visual research lie somewhere between the individual and societal moral framework and the more specific forms of professional ethical standards which are regulated by institutions – like universities. Panizza Allmark (photographer and author) discussed her adherence to a personal code of practice, stating: ‘I have made a point of not photographing people unless permission is granted and they want their image taken, or cannot be identified easily in the image or alternatively are engaging in a form of public display’ (see Allmark, Part II). These are strategic decisions which allow creative voices to still be heard with integrity when the constraints may seem insurmountable; a more realistic practice is still possible. Social scientists who are also professional photographers, like Panizza Allmark and Roger Brown, or film-makers, like Roger Canal and Sarah Atkinson (Part II), extend the notion of what photography means as a personal and public practice. In a recent IVSA paper, Brown’s summary of ethical photographic practice revolved around the meaning of ‘care’ – a term gleaned from the writings of Hurn and Jay (2003): Distilling, condensing, what they felt to be a common characteristic amongst the very many photographers of very different character, intent and motivation of their acquaintance at Magnum and elsewhere, and drawing from their own professional photographic lives. That characteristic is they say the Quality of Care […] By that they mean an existential commitment of Care for the Subject; Care for the photography; Care for the truth to the subject. Care for themselves. (Roger Brown’s transcript of IVSA paper, Carlisle, July 2009) These are concerns which go much deeper than the challenge of (potentially draconian) state legislation, and instead focus on the very humanity and integrity of the enterprise we are engaged in as social scientists. Certainly, these levels of care and integrity, navigating ethics issues, may take time and practice. A good rule of thumb is to follow the usual ethical guidelines of always obtaining informed consent, to ensure photographs or video are always voluntary, never coerced or covert. Research with care and integrity is essential and much of the process of research is about rapport building and developing research as empowerment. Finally, ‘situated ethics’, discussed by Clark (2013), reflects the need to stay aware of specific ethical moments and contexts of research while keeping in mind the basics of ethical practice: Thinking more reflexively about how ethics are practised moves debate beyond the visual and what might be considered issues of technique and method. Of course,

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86 Visual Research and Social Realities issues of consent, anonymity, confidentiality, display, ownership and legalities all come into play when considering how best to protect participants from harm and promote a more just sense of visual research. But in striving to act appropriately, it is important to consider the situations within which these actions take place which inform such actions. (2013: 78) Clark is suggesting that a situated approach to ethics, far from being just another hurdle to overcome, is an integral aspect deepening our understanding of the unique dynamics of the research context.

Methodologies in Action 1. Autophotography and Photo-Elicitation This approach is based on the simple idea of asking participants to take photographs of their environment, and using these as data to help capture the everyday concerns and themes of importance; in some cases this can become photo-elicitation where the images are used in a research interview. These can be taken by the researcher, but most often they are taken by the interviewee. The photographs taken are then used in a discussion between the researcher and subject (see Harper 2002). The approach could for example include informal use of a family album in discussions of family social histories (as in the discussion in Chapter 1), or more complex schemes to gather visual data from the field in a distant country, sending cameras to the group of people to record their experiences. The latter was the approach taken by Emma Owen. The study set out to work with the Mapuche, indigenous people of Chile. The focus of research was to explore the challenges faced as groups of indigenous people moved to the city away from traditional rural homelands. Cameras were supplied and the results were part of a mixed methods approach to a study which raised unique issues and questions about identities in transition. Owen’s research position, articulated below, recognises that much research with indigenous people has been deeply problematic and has: contributed to colonisation by research based on Western positivistic philosophical frameworks.This approach led to disembodying knowledge from Indigenous people’s histories, worldviews, and cultural and social practices, thus perpetuating a deficitbased discourse which situates the responsibility of problems within Indigenous peoples and ignores the larger socio-economic and historical contexts in which problems are rooted. Rectifying this position requires decolonising Western positivistic research by shifting to basing research on social constructionist paradigms that lead to strength-based approaches. (Ali et al. 2021: 2) Mapuche Transition from Rural to Urban Context in Chile – Emma Louise Owen The aim of this research was to compare aspects of the experience of rural-dwelling Mapuche in their traditional lands with that of those who have relocated to the city (of Santiago?). A key objective of this study was to explore potential differences in how each group expressed cultural identity. Cultural identity can be understood as those socially

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 87 constructed categories through which people define themselves, including: ethnic origin, customs, language, history and shared beliefs. ONTOLOGY

From an indigenous perspective it is essential to understand that reality is understood through interconnectedness. This has been recognised in several key areas, including vital contributions to sustainability, where generational knowledge shows implicit and sophisticated understanding of the environment (see for example Tom et al. (2019) or Zidny et al. (2020)). To learn about society and the wider world, we engage with other individuals with unique personalities, values and perspectives.We also broaden our worldview by exploring other people through social interactions. The notion that there are multiple and relative levels of reality follows from the philosophies of research which informed my approach. Both Alfred Schutz and William James share a similar viewpoint about multiple ‘lifeworlds’ or realities. James claims that there are multiple, maybe infinite, levels of reality, each of them with a specific style of existence, he terms these ‘subuniverses’ (see James 1890). Although it is not possible to generalise and there is great diversity between different cultural traditions, in broad terms Aboriginal and indigenous civilisations4 often have developed worldviews in which sub-universes have evolved over millennia, and have a focus on a holistic, cyclical understanding of the world, a world in constant flux. This makes dramatic contrast with Western worldviews stemming from Enlightenment tradition and concerned with science, tending to be more linear and compartmentalised and static (see Little Bear 2000). EPISTEMOLOGY

Research on Indigenous peoples differs from research with Indigenous peoples, and the latter requires ‘relational accountability’ (Dadich, Moore and Eapen 2019; Delbanco et al. 2001). Relational accountability (Wilson and Wilson 1998) is described as an ethical guideline that highlights researcher responsibility to the participants and the wider community (Henry and Tait 2016; Reo 2019). These concepts help to further the understanding of fundamental contrasts between indigenous research methodological approaches and those used by mainstream western academics. In addition, the concept is of critical importance when considering academic partnerships with communities. Kajner et al. (2012) emphasise the importance of recognising a ‘head and heart’ approach, where the principles and values established within this code of ethical conduct encourage respect for alternative worldviews while also requiring researchers to maintain ongoing communication with communities. Indigenous psychology stresses the value of employing a community-led appropriate framework in order to decolonise research. According to the research perspective of Liberation Psychology (LP), it is vital to develop research programmes with and for indigenous peoples. The LP framework demonstrates applicability beyond Latin America, allowing methodological approaches and measures to be tailored to the community’s needs and suggesting more traditional psychology-based measures should be adapted to more holistic cultural values. The issue of dissonant beliefs between cultures is addressed by Liberation Psychology, recognising that much psychological theory and practice and the cultural background of many researchers is largely based on WEIRD characteristics

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88 Visual Research and Social Realities (i.e.Western, Educated, Industrialised, Rich and Democratic) stemming from the western canon of values. Hence greater sensitivity is required and fostering a more intersubjective and appropriate approach is a moral obligation. These issues are complex and I found critical realism useful in examining my relationship to the research context. Critical realism attempts to explain intricate collective action, and social constructions, while accepting an underlying objective reality. In asserting the equal importance of structure and culture in social analysis, realists would suggest that specific ideas need not be mapped to groups of people occupying specific geographical spaces (see Allwood 2011a). Ideas may be shared transnationally but are always mediated by structures pre-existing within a national context and agents’ experiences of them. (De Souza 2014: 23) Critical realism connects the causality between real life events, and this applies to the flexibility of mixed methods utilised within this research study. Allwood (2018) considers the nature and challenges of indigenous psychologies and it is important to consider the characteristics of an indigenous western perspective in relation to ontology and epistemology. METHODOLOGY

The use of testing techniques that enable participants to take an active role is highly encouraged in indigenous research. The advantages and benefits of using visual methodologies with indigenous peoples include preserving power structure in the research phase, and emphasis on key indigenous experiences, and establishing a trusting partnership and participant empowerment (Castledon and Garvin 2008). Hence, in this study visual methodologies for analysis were important because they empower groups, engaging them actively in the project, and give individuals a voice (Harper 2002). Smith and Woodward (1998) examine the function of photo-elicitation in identity research and highlight the visual’s distinct qualities, enabling: the exploration of identity, transcending cultural boundaries, and community/historical ethnography. The study sought to investigate and compare the findings of a series of images from two samples of Mapuche participants living in both the rural settings of Valdivia and the city of Pucon. Twenty-four single-use disposable cameras were distributed, and several participants utilised mobile phones as well. In all, forty-six images were collected. CHALLENGES

Using visual research methods allowed the participants to become an active part of the process and represent their views. One of the limitations noted with this research was the time restrictions in data collection. Owing to financial constraints and family obligations in the UK, I could not devote substantial time to data collection. However, carrying out the initial data collection was advantageous because it helped me to interact better, immersing myself in the Mapuche community, allowing me to see and understand the participants I was working with. In addition, I needed to follow up on the data-collecting with a Mapuche data collection assistant who was located in Chile, but with whom I had mutual connections. Whilst ideally it would have been better to carry out the research first-hand, it was beneficial

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 89 to have help from an individual who had access to participants and a clear understanding and lived experience of being Mapuche and the complex issues that impact on communities. REFLEXIVITY

I am aware that my family connections enabled me to access the communities with a level of understanding, but being born and raised in the UK allows me a more critical distance. I acknowledge that there is a move within indigenous research for it only to be carried out by indigenous academics in terms of both research practice and input. However, as some of the participants noted, I feel that it is a strength to identify and situate between both a western and indigenous perspective. I also have a strong interest in global indigenous identity. My children have Mixtec heritage, and to date, I have travelled to both Australia and New Zealand to present at indigenous health conferences and learn from Māori and Aboriginal academics and community members. I feel that these experiences and my family ties, as well as experience in visual representation and the arts, have allowed me to understand some of the issues first-hand that are faced by other indigenous cultures and to recognise social differences and similarities and sense of identity. During my research I have encountered people who take immense pride in their ethnic identities and sense of culture, but also those who wish to conceal their indigenous roots and spoke harshly of the Mapuche as though they were outside observers.

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Figure 2.11 Emma Owen’s Mapuche research (2014), Chile: (a) Rural scene, family walking, (b) Rural scene showing traditional Mapuche flag, (c) Traditional salsa meal, (d) Urban scene – at the bus depot

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90 Visual Research and Social Realities One example of this form of ‘self-contempt’ was noted when we met a man in a bar in Pucon. He was running expeditions up to the volcano, and he asked what the purpose of our visit was and commented that he didn’t understand why I would want to do this as ‘no one cares about them – why would they’. Later in the evening it became apparent that he had a Mapuche surname as he was Mapuche himself. DISCUSSION OF THE IMAGES

The photos in this series were taken in both cities and rural areas, and where possible, conversations regarding their context were conducted. However, owing to the restricted time available for data collection, obtaining narratives from all participants who took the photos was not possible. The photographs were analysed using thematic analysis. Thematic analysis is a qualitative method of analysis, identifying, exploring and reporting patterns within a data set (Braun and Clarke 2006; Pill and Harding 2013). Even with a small batch of images, it was useful to carry out this form of analysis, adopting a step-by-step approach, using the visual data and considering them alongside participant narratives where these were available. The procedure began with preliminary coding (Liamputtong 2013). Then, both urban and rural samples were analysed separately. According to the researcher’s initial interpretation of the images, the photos were manually sorted and put in clusters. Individual photos were given descriptors, which were counted and scored for both samples based on their degree of significance. The next step of this process was to assess how many themes emerged from the data and the relative significance of these; i.e. greater or lesser number of images. The central focus was on the content and context of the photographs, with identified parallels and variations between the urban and rural samples. The following phase entailed a thorough examination of the data. Participants, for example, took photographs of family members on several occasions, highlighting the importance of family in Mapuche culture. Similarly, ‘symbolism’ is consistently captured in both samples; displayed in a variety of ways, including traditional dress and jewellery, symbolism of the Mapuche flag, and public art. The final step was to determine the overarching themes and name them accordingly. Several common themes emerged, including: family, community, symbolism, cultural representation, agriculture and food. The themes of community and home were common to both samples. Here are some of the comments which were received from the participants: … these photos that I sent represent my life as a Mapuche, what I am and what I feel, it is my family that are in these photos, my grandmother, my mother and my children … … Tuwun is the territory from which you come and the Kupalme is your lineage. These always go together and cannot be separated. It is essential in the process of identity to know the history of the family, the last name of your ancestors. Remember that our wisdom is inherited from them. Our ancients are our guides, our learning … (comments on the images made by participants) Traditional cuisine is regarded as a critical component of cultural identification for indigenous communities worldwide (Gonzalez 2015). The Declaration of Atitlan, adopted in 2002 by indigenous peoples from more than twenty-eight nations, describes food sovereignty as follows: a collective and intergenerational right based on traditional

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 91 knowledge and practices and the lands, waters, seeds, plants, animals, and natural cycles that sustain them. Figure 2.11b depicts the Mapuche flag – Wenufoye (The Heaven’s Winter’s Bark). In 1991, it was selected from 500 designs by the Aukiñ Wallmapu Ngulam (the Chilean Mapuche Organisation) and reflected elements vital to the Mapuche culture (Bacigalupo 1998). These include the Tranku – the Mapuche ceremonial drum – its colours represent the earth, the sun, spirituality, ecology, and indigenous wisdom. In addition to Wenufoye, five additional flags represent the Huenteche, Huilliche, Lafquenche, Nagche and Pehuenche territories. The ancestral flag (the Lautaro flag) features the Guelve (wünelfe), a symbol from Mapuche iconography. It is commonly assumed to be a representation of the canelo tree. CONCLUSION

The aim of this strand of the research was to conduct a visual examination of a collection of photographs taken by Mapuche participants from both urban and rural settings to determine if there are variations in cultural identification between city and rural Mapuche. The photographs in both samples show a close connection to traditional cultural identity, demonstrating a focus on themes of: families, historical places, symbolism and traditional cuisine. The results are consistent with recent research suggesting that cultural identification is critical to the well-being of indigenous communities. The study revealed the multifaceted ways in which participants from both samples demonstrate their identity. There were a number of similarities and links between the main groups, as well as differences evident from the groups’ respective photographs. The photos imply that what is considered fundamental to Mapuche cultural identity is central to the participants in both samples. Those who have migrated to the city focus on nature or artefacts that traditionally relate to the Mapuche culture; these seem valuable to maintaining a sense of identity. There are inevitable lifestyle changes that occur when individuals move from a rural area to a city, and so, for the Mapuche people, it is essential that they rediscover their ancestral roots and devise a strategy to preserve their cultural heritage (Ray 2007). While this research supports the assertion that Mapuche are motivated by the need to maintain their cultural identity, it is also important to bear in mind that culture is a dynamic phenomenon that cannot be defined by just a few characteristics. It is important that they maintain a firm grounding in their traditional belief systems while forging a new hybrid cultural identity for themselves within a western context. In order for the Mapuche to thrive, cultural traditions are a crucial part of their lives, as indeed they are for all aboriginal peoples’ wellness and well-being worldwide (Warren 2009). _____________________________________________________________________ Although this is only an extract from Owen’s research, it is immediately apparent how much depth of thought about the relationships of the researcher to the Mapuche was necessary before, during and after the data was collected. Initially, Emma drew on her roots in Chile to get a detailed understanding of the history and present-day concerns of the Mapuche.

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92 Visual Research and Social Realities During the preparation phase, I spoke with family members to understand the Mapuche people’s position, both historically and presently. The experiences from my family were helpful in understanding not just the political environment but also the challenges people face in terms of economic growth, human rights, and self-determination. In addition, practical issues were addressed to make the research safe and minimise any suspicions the communities might have that the researcher was exploitative. In many cases there is an unfortunate arrogance in previous research practices, which have focused on indigenous communities without any attempt to share the research or empower members of communities. I could also pinpoint any geographical locations of civil unrest, allowing me to determine safe regions for collecting data. In addition, I also carried out a comprehensive review of the relevant literature on community research techniques, ethical practice when working with indigenous groups and explored first-hand reports of Mapuche narratives in the news. Given the sensitivity of such research and the fragile position of communities who have suffered degradation and human rights abuses, it is important to have some form of mediation. Again, Emma was fortunate to be able to make use of family connections to help pave the way and develop trust and rapport. Prior to the trip, my cousin coordinated an introduction with a community leader and employee of The National Corporation for Indigenous Development, Corporación Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena (CONADI), whom she met via her journalism work … CONADI’s core purpose is to empower the indigenous people of Chile by facilitating the development, coordination, and execution of programmes that serve the needs of individuals, families, and their communities through collaboration with the Chilean government. These details will hopefully give the reader embarking on potentially sensitive ethnographic research a sense of the groundwork which is often needed before access and ethical approval can be sought. The form of visual methodology employed here was carefully chosen as one which empowered and respected indigenous culture. More dialogue with participants was difficult to garner and Emma would like to pursue a photovoice approach in future. Despite the difficulties in managing a visual approach like this remotely, the results were significant and showed an active attempt to respect and involve the Mapuche, and, when combined with the other forms of data in the research, added depth and validity to the project. 2. Photo-Documentation and Photo-Essays A very different project is that carried out by Dave Surridge. Over more than twelve years Surridge has monitored the phenomenon of urban art and its startling new manifestations in Sheffield where several high-profile artists emerged onto the scene and created a compelling visual dialogue with the city and its people.

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 93 From his gradual archiving of these forms, it became apparent that the meaning of such work shares a complex relationship with urban spaces, their abandonment, decay, destruction, and sometimes renewal. By the very nature of these forms of art it is difficult to develop a relationship with the artists, who seek out hidden spaces for their work. Landscape Painters: Urban Art and Graffiti – Dave Surridge BACKGROUND CONTEXT

In the early months of 2009, I was involved in taking photographs with the aim of capturing the changing faces of the city. On what felt like the periphery of my vision (hiding in the depths of derelict buildings) I began to glimpse interesting murals and intricate graffiti pieces. Snyder describes this experience: ‘this was the first time that a piece had penetrated my indifference.This was the first time I had really looked at one as something to be seen, instead of just as white noise or as trash littering the street, something to be overlooked and avoided’ (Snyder 2009: 1). During the following six years I amassed a substantial archive of photographs from across the city and beyond. The city of Sheffield in 2009 was a post-industrial landscape, where the legacy of the steel industry and associated trades had left many redundant buildings in various states of decay and disrepair. I was motivated to record these environments and the art and graffiti within, without, and around them, as both the physical spaces and the work that adorned them were transient in nature. I saw my role as primarily that of an archivist, recording these fragile post-industrial ruins before they were demolished and the equally transitory art/graffiti which seemed to share an affinity with these locations. The research practice in this endeavour was largely an inductive process: allowing ideas, themes and theories to emerge from the material as the archive grows. A significant number of these photographs were taken in abandoned, derelict buildings. I found myself drawn to these locations not just for the exciting range of artwork, but also because there was something unique occurring inside these sites which triggered powerful emotions. These premises were off-limits; one was trespassing by entering them and they seemed to share a symbiotic relationship with the artwork; some pieces actively referenced and made use of the surroundings as part of the art. These were marginal sites; sites in transit; buildings coming down, new ones going up. Artwork was seen inside old ones and on exterior hoardings of new ones. Many of the images recorded and the sites they adorned no longer exist; they are a stage in an evolving urban pattern. OBJECTIVES

To examine the surge in a particular species of public art which is motivated by a profound sense of place and communicates beyond the usual boundaries. It is a phenomenon which speaks of the fragility of neo-liberal planning and changes in systems of production. The time frame mentioned above captured a ‘purple patch’ of extraordinary creativity which lasted around five or six years. Today there is very little new work of this calibre. The processes of regeneration/gentrification have transformed and irrevocably changed the nature of these former industrial heartlands and their management. Sites like Kelham

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94 Visual Research and Social Realities Island are now sanitised and securitised. In these environments today any unsolicited artwork is invariably sanctioned. Those few years were like a liminal period, bridging ‘old’ and ‘new’ versions of Sheffield. During this in-between time, the pace of change paused, as if in a kind of limbo-state, the sites of vigorous industry lay dormant, deteriorating, but temporarily host to a transient creativity. Walls became a palimpsest, as writers and artists cover and redraw or repaint their works. Layers upon layers of industrial grime, followed by layer upon layer of paint and paste-up artwork. There is the multisensory experience of these spaces; a sense of physical excitement, a frisson, when turning a corner, unaware of who or what you might stumble across in these ruins. Edensor notes the initial awkwardness of movement through such spaces: Initially clumsy and apprehensive, movement in ruins becomes strangely reminiscent of childhood sensory immersion and of the pleasurable negotiation of space largely denied to adults. Without guided pathways or social and physical barriers, large ruins become labyrinthine, permitting the making of a multitude of paths. Similarly, there are no temporal restrictions which determine how long one should loiter in one spot. (Edensor 2005: 838) In such places sensory awareness is heightened – for example, small sounds: rats and birds, wind, broken glass, broken needles on the floor. There is always a sense of uneasiness, of intrusion into space used by others.You could meet writers, artists, other photographers, and there was often evidence of people stripping out any valuable metal (staircase railings, etc.). I remember seeing a hawk perched on an old piece of machinery in one building, waiting to attack rats or pigeons. I heard an anecdote of another photographer discovering a dead person in a pile of blankets in one of the buildings that made up what was known as the ‘crack den’ (the Heathcote Works off Sidney Street).The smell of engine oil ingrained in these buildings, concrete mountings where machinery was once housed, broken doors and windows of managers’ offices, pigeon droppings and skeletons, rats in roof spaces as the tiles collapse from the ceiling, pin-up pictures still on workers’ lockers. Vast spaces – the original sounds of industry and human voices shouting above the noise are replaced by the echoing of huge empty spaces. It became apparent in this hidden, crumbling world that artists tended to use these sites in one of two ways: 1. Producing art/graffiti that actively acknowledges and utilises the surrounding environment. 2. Or work that simply utilises a dry, available surface in a location where it is unlikely that you will be disturbed, and you can create your work in increments, over days. Phlegm (Figure 2.12a, c & d), Rocket 01, and coLor (see e.g. Figure 2.12b of the ‘rhino head’) fall into the first category. Most other forms of graffiti fall into the second more opportunist category, perhaps driven by the practicality of dry and undisturbed spaces. Before long the map of Sheffield was dotted with specific outcrops of these new forms of graffiti. Rocket 01’s work became associated with a derelict water treatment plant in Lower Bradfield and now-demolished Hepworth Refractory Brickworks in the Loxley valley; coLor’s work could be seen in the old, long-defunct Wards Brewery, while

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 95 Phlegm’s work cropped up at the burnt-out Pinegrove Sports Club at Stannington, the old derelict primary school behind West Bar, the old Record Ridgeway Tools factory at Shalesmoor, and seemed prolific in many other places; many examples of his mysterious work appeared in factories. Exploring these often labyrinthine locations and discovering another of his unworldly creations felt, I imagined, like unearthing treasures inside a pyramid, a Pharaoh’s tomb. Phlegm’s huge murals seemed strangely attuned to the ruins and their lost relics of industry. Uncanny mythical forms like the Wounded Giant lying on his side (see Figure 2.12a) were stunning. To encounter the presence of this figure, 30 feet long and 10 feet high in the echoing factory at Shalesmoor was awe-inspiring. Stumbling across these pieces in old factories, foundries or schools, one realises that the places have been chosen knowingly; the feelings of a lost generation of workers, the voices, feverish activity and din of production, now reduced to silent mausoleums watched over by Phlegm’s chainmail sentinels. The names of some of the creative artists whose work populated these spaces, like Phlegm and Kid Acne, have become well known, even internationally. Phlegm has a strong following amongst a section of the public, as witnessed in a more public event, Mausoleum of the Giants, which took place in 2019 in the old Eye Witness Works building (Milton Street, Sheffield). The buildings housing his giant figures, this time as monumental, ominous sculptures, again reminiscent of chimerical deities and supernatural creatures in tombs.5 Exploring hidden, derelict and abandoned post-industrial worlds of the city recalls several intertextual references. Notably, the metaphysical spaces in Tarkovsky’s film Stalker; a decaying and alien dreamworld where the echoing sounds and water trickling over disintegrating detritus in the Zone recall a lost era (and, some suggest, memories of Chernobyl). Or else reminiscent of the descriptions of decaying layers of industry and riotous nature in Edgelands (a concept coined by Paul Farley and Michael Symmons Roberts in their 2011 book – it refers to ‘those spaces that are neither urban nor rural, that seem to be unplanned or unmanaged, and that exist in a patchy between’ (Jeffrey 2019)). These spaces and the communicative forms which have found currency within their walls are an important element in our understanding of what Bachelard called the ‘poetics of space’. The experience of these spaces is akin to what Edmund Burke referred to as ‘The Sublime’: The passion caused by the great and sublime in nature … is Astonishment; and astonishment is that state of the soul, in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror. In this case the mind is so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other. (Burke 1757)6 RATIONALE FOR RESEARCH PROCESS

In exploring this form of expressive work, the primary emphasis is on a qualitative approach which enables a better understanding of the poetics of the works and their relationship to space and fragile human endeavours. Again, there is a clear distinction between different forms of graffiti and urban art.The impact and experience of these sites is starkly different depending on whether manifest on the inside or outside of buildings. Outside, graffiti writers often contribute to a palimpsest, layers upon layers, while work inside ruins is often singular and not covered over or defaced, more like a gallery.

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96 Visual Research and Social Realities Quantifying incidences of an artist’s work only makes sense in relation to some ‘taggers’ and graffiti writers. The project for these people, perhaps due to territorial and competitive pressure, is to be as visible as possible, leaving evidence of their presence in as many locations as possible. The perceived difficulty of accessing specific locations is also relevant; the higher, or more dangerous the location, the greater the impact and level of respect from their peers. This form of graffiti is a far remove from the thoughtful milieu of the public artists mentioned above. The characters and animals, monsters and chimera they create express more vividly the dislocated and alienated sense of place, than written slogans and the multicoloured, bulbous lettering of other styles of graffiti, known as a ‘throw-up’ or a ‘fill-in’. It feels like an intermediate step in learning one’s craft – moving on from one-dimensional tags and honing one’s skills in order to master the design aspect and the ‘can control’ to create the more intricate, artistic, 3-D graffiti pieces. Images like Figure 2.12b & c – rhino head and crouching character – convey elements of the artist’s work more effectively than text; they demonstrate a creative intelligence, a reflective awareness of place; adapting their ideas to the shattered rooms where they were found. ETHICAL CONCERNS

The activity (of both original writers and artists, and myself, recording the work) involves trespass and an element of risk and uncertainty. I was once contacted by an artist, asking me to remove a specific location tag that I had inadvertently added to the description of one of his pieces as we shouldn’t have been there. We had both trespassed on to a site that was out of bounds. Photographers rarely share locations – this adds to the sense of achievement when one finds a location, through ‘detective work’ – Google maps are a valuable resource, used in conjunction with other people’s photos and the minimal detail attached to them, to pinpoint a spot. Working from minimal clues like this invariably leads to a rewarding sense of achievement on the few occasions of being the first photographer to the site of an impressive hidden masterpiece. A case in point was discovering Phlegm’s comedy/tragedy masks (Figure 2.12d), and knowing, from the lack of disturbance to the plants covering the exposed floor of the roofless building, that I was seeing a freshly painted piece. APPLICATIONS

One key application of the practice has been to use these images in teaching. As a teacher of an intensive, compulsory second-year undergraduate module on social research methods, a topic for which some students lack enthusiasm, the examples gleaned from archiving these hidden galleries enable students to see aspects of research methods in action, using vivid examples to highlight specific terms that some find difficult to understand.This has proved especially effective in promoting an appreciation of ontological and epistemological concepts. In addition, I use a selection of my graffiti and urban art photos to enable a discussion over the different quantitative and qualitative approaches to researching this particular ‘world’. For example, it could be argued that tagging lends itself to a more quantitative approach, but it becomes clear that a more qualitative approach would be essential when the motives and meanings of tagging behaviour are in the spotlight.

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 97 (a)

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Figure 2.12 Four images of graffiti from Dave Surridge’s archival research: (a) Phlegm – Wounded giant, (b) coLor’s Rhino head, (c) Phlegm – Crouching figure, (d) Phlegm – Tragedy/Comedy masks in a derelict playhouse

Surridge’s work cataloguing these pictures shows an awareness of their transient quality and fragility. The buildings he explores are disintegrating, their days are numbered, so these art forms are planned and set out with the knowledge of their own transience. Records of many of these images only exist if urban explorers or passers-by have taken time to photograph them. From the discussion above it is clear that many of the images were much more than typical graffiti; those ‘big I am’ signs seen under a thousand subways and railway bridges; psychedelic, bulbous lettering, iconographic forms, cool riffs on constructed identity. Or, even more common, the tags quickly scrawled with little concern about style or art at all, their function just to mark territory.There is a distinct divide between the purpose and approach of these forms. The forms on these hidden walls were of a different calibre; they are public art. But it is important not to reproduce a simplistic divide between ideas of high and low culture; development of refined expression versus mere space-filling subcultural capital. There may be class and other divisions between these forms (Phlegm for example is a trained graphic artist); there are different and largely, due to the illegality of the practice, unknown background stories to these varied painters. Surridge has noted elsewhere that there is a loose hierarchy amongst these artists, which accords respect for those who stay true to the code of practice which has evolved.

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98 Visual Research and Social Realities Interestingly, Phlegm’s work was never painted over in any of the ‘indoor’ locations until it had severely deteriorated, which implies some level of regard for his artistic skills from his peers. Surridge explains that Phlegm’s work only began to be defaced post-‘Mausoleum of the Giants’ exhibition, when unknown (to me) individuals accused him of ‘selling out’ and so fair game to be attacked. My guess is that those who deface[d] his work were not those who used to frequent the interiors of the factories. But the crucial difference is in the form’s affinity with places. As Entrekin comments, the places we inhabit are a medium, a ‘milieu’: … a fusion of space and experience, a space filled with meaning, a source of identity. It is also a specific context for our actions, a configuration of objects and events filled in space, a milieu, as the French say. It is outside and inside us, objective and subjective, universal and particular. We live our lives in place and have a sense of being part of place, but we also view place as separate, something external. (Entrekin 1991: 34) It is the experience of these art forms in the city’s hidden places, and the sensory impact on individuals who stumble across them, which is the object and impetus of Dave Surridge’s endeavour. The industrial ruins of the city; workshops and factories, the many ruined foundries along the banks of the River Don and Tinsley Canal, both cleaned-up, and gradually reclaimed by signs of nature, trees and shrubs and creepers sprouting through the cracks, kingfishers, herons and geese along the banks where not so long ago the water was so toxic, no fish would swim, now apparently, salmon make their way up river again, and rumour has it there are even otters. Similarly, these artworks are like feral natural elements thriving in the debris, rising again, celebrating impermanency. They project a sort of resilient optimism which fills the gaps in the failed dreams of capitalism. As Buck-Morss argues: The debris of industrial culture teaches us not the necessity of submitting to historical catastrophe, but the fragility of the social order that tells us this catastrophe was necessary. The crumbling of the monuments that were built to signify the immortality of civilisation becomes proof, rather, of its transiency. And the fleetingness of temporal power does not cause sadness; it informs political practice. (Buck-Morss 1991: 170) Perhaps we need the lessons of these hidden galleries in abandoned spaces. These ruined buildings are like Foucault’s heterotopias, intense and disturbing transitional spaces. One function of such spaces he describes as being: ‘to create a space of illusion that exposes every real space, all the sites inside of which human life is partitioned, as still more illusory … .’ (1976: 8). The derelict remnants of capitalism reveal the transient nature of the foundations our lives are based on. They demonstrate the vulnerability of capitalism, the collapse of steel and coal, the fragility of structures which orchestrated the rhythms of daily work and leisure. Like metaphors made concrete. As Robert Smithson (1967) elegantly stated: ‘Time turns metaphors into things, and stacks them up in cold rooms, or places them in the celestial playgrounds of the suburbs.’ It is as if the metaphor for the end

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 99 of an industrial era has materialised wry visual commentaries on the ruinous cycle of industry. But, the sense of uncertainty and loss that the immediate decay of the buildings exudes, is brought out by the haunting paintings. It is perhaps surprising that a heavily industrialised city like Sheffield ‘steel city’ is also the greenest and most successfully environmental city in the UK. From a society of producers to a society of consumers; shopping malls built on the foundations of acres of steel foundries. But perhaps in time to come the mall will be merely another layer beneath the next phase of evolving social worlds. Ontologically, the use of visual data raises questions about the perception and interpretation of what we believe to be social reality. For example, as discussed earlier, the mediasphere, political ideologies and rapid technological changes all raise questions about how social reality can be understood. How influential are visual media in the construction of individual and community identities and what are the processes by which individuals interpret social and cultural phenomena as meaningful to their lives? Consider for example the range of possible ways in which graffiti and people who create graffiti can be understood (and what therefore can be known about it).Traditionally seen as deviant if not actually criminal (trespassing, defacing and damaging property), theories explain(ed) it as a form of delinquency, adolescent rebellion, frustrated communication from a deprived underclass and so on. This lens will take the researcher down a well-worn track of exploring arguments about subcultures (or post-subcultures).The disaffected youth discourse also fits the ideas about gang culture and territoriality – marking turf or competing with other painters in the neighbourhood, often over-painting and disrespecting the efforts of others. Other trends see the reality of graffiti as crucially a subversive form of activism, a response to the wasteful, polluting and glaring inequalities of capitalism or environmental degradation, or the authoritarian state. Through this lens graffiti making is a marginalised political action, associated with ‘culture-jamming’ and seen to utilise the signs and symbols of social norms to parody and satirise (an example would be the infamous BUGAUP campaign (Billboard Utilising Graffitists Against Unhealthy Promotions) which wittily defaced commercial billboard advertising in Australia in the 1970s and 1980s). More recently there is a view that much graffiti is about ‘sense of place’, an elegiac form which celebrates or mourns the lost spaces thrown aside in the jet stream of forms of urban expansion and renewal. As Vandenhoek (2021) has argued, it is important to recognise that graffiti in these marginal spaces is often about the politicisation of place. Dave Surridge’s endeavour is to examine urban change and the experience of this change in the sensory sphere of forms of urban painting. This ‘symbiosis’ of fresh artworks in decaying work places constitutes ‘specified generalisations’ of a stage in the cycle of change for our towns and cities. It is clear then that a phenomenon can be seen along a spectrum, and it is important not to misrecognise great variation within the definition of what it is. The choice of a particular interpretation of the practice sets up a fundamental ontological difference to the who, how and what of graffiti practice. Aside from the consideration of how the phenomenon itself is categorised, the specific visual technique being employed in research will have influence and shape the research outputs (see O’Brien et al. 2012). Epistemologically, again, taking the examples of Mapuche culture and ‘graffiti’, it is clear that what we interpret the phenomenon to be influences how we research it. And poses other problems too. The long-standing image of researcher as an objective

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100 Visual Research and Social Realities outsider collecting readings from the remote regions where strange tribal practices are taking place resonates here as researchers often tend to come from more privileged and educated backgrounds; they are often part of an academic culture with its own mindset and practices. So, although they are not trips into the interior of Brazil or Papua New Guinea, there may be big gaps of class and culture, and perhaps of ethnicity and age. Much of Emma Owen’s work with the Mapuche required careful preliminary groundwork, the use of mediators, the adaptation of paradigms like Liberal Psychology, but crucially the use of the Mapuche’s own images which allowed a form of give and take, an intersubjective approach. Clearly how the researcher into Mapuche’s transition to an urban environment or graffiti in derelict factories reaches into the phenomenon is crucial to the coherence and ‘validity’ of their research findings. While theory is the essential scaffolding of interpretation and understanding, the raw data of the experience and observation of people or places, of the pictures they have created, and if possible, their stories, reach back to the phenomenological immediacy; ‘back to the things themselves’ as Husserl put it. These two very different forms of research demonstrate the value of applying visual research to deepen a sociological understanding of issues. Chapter 3 will delve into the importance of place in research and the many visual ways in which we understand and mediate our passage through them.

Critical Questions 1. Take two pictures of a social context from different angles or points of view (this could be anything; a street scene, a birthday party, a family walk, road works, a view of the countryside, or a daily traffic jam). Next consider the images from the point of view of ontology, epistemology and methodology. 2. If you were asked to present a study of a new group of migrants in or near where you live, what preliminary work would you have to do? Are there forms of visual research which might be applicable and valuable in this case? 3. In the study what would be your duty of care to the participants; in what ways would you ensure an ethical and intersubjective approach?

Notes 1 For an excellent discussion of the complex ecological dimension of gentrification, see Jerome Krase and Judith DeSena (2016) Race, Class, and Gentrification in Brooklyn: A View from the Street, Lexington Books. 2 A reference to Forbes Burnham, the African-Guyanese President who took power after the British (with US connivance) deposed Jagan and suspended the constitution in 1964. 3 One point raised about the video was the suggestion that I had sanitised the footage by editing out displays of extreme drunkenness.This was an interesting and complex point. At one level it is certainly true that it created an artificial image, but there are the ethical issues of showing drunkenness (quite aside from the obvious impossibility to obtain informed consent).The exposure of Aboriginal drinking is the image many people have of them and is grossly unfair and disproportionate to the population or to any comparisons with problem drinking in the white Australian community. As Fiske et al. (1987). suggest, there is a cultural boundary for white Australians, who see public drinking as threatening.

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The Research Process and Visual Methods 101 4 Used interchangeably, but typically ‘Aboriginal’ describes the original inhabitants/First Nations and Indigenous people, descriptive of born and belonging to a particular region or country (Emma Owen). 5 A book is now available, Phlegm – Mausoleum of The Giants, and several short video pieces give a sense of the spectacle people were faced with: see e.g. James Hargreaves’s (May 2020) Phlegm — Mausoleum of The Giants: Meet The Monochrome Beasts, www.sheffieldguide.blog/2020/05/29/ phlegm-mausoleum-giants-monochrome-beasts/ 6 For further discussion of the sublime see Allmark in Part II. 7 The Intervention – this sign and hundreds more like it appeared following from the so-called ‘intervention’ policy (implemented by the Howard government in 2007), adding to the moral panic and stigma which appear to have been generated about Aboriginal communities. The sign draws a line beyond which alcohol and pornography are prohibited, suggesting that Aboriginal people are especially vulnerable to alcohol and pornography. There seems to have been little or no evidence of an epidemic of sexual abuse and the true motives for this extreme policy which saw the army occupying Aboriginal communities across large areas of Australia. John Pilger exposed the lack of evidence for this policy and suggested that an ulterior motive was to survey Aboriginal lands for precious minerals (see Pilger 2013).

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3

Mapping Society A ‘Sense of Place’

In the next two chapters, ‘place’ and ‘identity’, two interlinked concepts central to the understanding of social life, are explored, highlighting the value of visual approaches to their research. A visual approach can help to convey the subjective feelings, atmosphere and dynamics of the surrounding cultural and social spaces. The two concepts are closely interrelated; for a location to become a ‘place’ it accumulates meanings for individuals and takes on an identity. Identity itself is strongly grounded in material belonging to a place; a community, a region, a country. Both concepts can be argued to take place within the matrix of social construction and representation. One valuable way of visually representing and recording elements in a research context is to make maps of the physical surroundings, perhaps locating communities, critical incidents and showing relationships and boundaries. Hand-drawn maps add texture and detail, and can be a valuable asset in interview situations. One benefit is that they can provide a central visual cue; a hard copy of how individuals experience spatial relationships. While lacking the photographic quality of ‘extra somatic memory’ (Khun 2007; Prosser 2008) they provide a discursive tool for reviewing, and sometimes correcting one’s memory and assessment of a place. This chapter will explore how maps and other visual records can be used in research, and allow research to get under the superficial exterior of places.

Sense of Place The concept of ‘place’ is one of the most complex (but perhaps least discussed) in the social sciences, and understanding place at a deep level is relatively new. ‘Sense of place’ has been defined as: ‘a profound association with places as cornerstones of existence and individual identity’ (Relph 1976: 63). Relph’s work questioned the meaning of space, a concept which had been largely taken for granted. Relph’s major contribution was to present the case for ‘a phenomenology of place’. In simple terms, Relph outlines three attributes of place identity: the static physical setting, the activities and the meanings – constitute the three basic elements of the identity of places. A moment’s reflection suggests that this division, although obvious, is a fundamental one. For example, it is possible to visualise a town as consisting of buildings and physical objects, as is represented in air photographs. A strictly objective observer of the activities of people within this physical context

DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-5

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 107 would observe their movements much as an entomologist observes ants, some moving in regular patterns, some consuming objects and so on. But a person experiencing these buildings and activities sees them as far more than this – they are beautiful or ugly, useful or hindrances, home, factory, enjoyable, alienating; in short, they are meaningful. (Relph 1976: 47) Relph is commenting on the need to look inside the seething ants’ nest and its multitudinous subjectivities, meanings and aesthetics, rather than just noting the dead external contours of its structures. It is suggested that sense of place has been presented as philosophically detached, part of the Manichean subject/object divide; rendering a separation of place from being, as merely ‘a container of human activities – or as the product of social construction’ (Obrador-Pons 1995). Faced with these dichotomies, some, like Ingold, have focused on the concept of ‘dwelling’ as more fruitful. The concept stems from the later work of Heidegger, and was reworked by Ingold (1995) as a means of restoring some lived interconnections with place, rather than simply replicating the Cartesian divide. Importantly this is a conception of place which offers a ‘rich intimate ongoing togetherness of beings and things which make up landscapes and places, and which bind together nature and culture over time’ (Cloke and Jones 2001). It seems important that any serious meditation on sense of place should consider the complex interrelation of consciousness and embodiment with place, and the passage of different people through the terrain. Ingold uses the term ‘meshwork’, to describe an ‘entanglement of lines’ (2013: 132), drawing on the ‘rhizome’1 concept (Deleuze and Guattari 1987). Ingold’s emphasis on the landscape is enlivened by an embodied perspective; setting the landscape in the temporal sphere acted on by those inhabiting the terrain. Thus, escaping the aridity of realist or idealist perspectives; instead, the land is imbued with layer upon layer of human action, work and dwelling, suggesting: that the past is continually redefined in the terms of the present and projections into the future; that such redefinitions of the past involve forms of collective memory work; and that landscapes are never completed but are always subject to contestation and renegotiation, using materials, signs and activities from its various pasts as they are projected into diverse futures. (MacNaghten and Urry 1998: 168) Place is at once unique, an ‘ever shifting constellation of trajectories’ (Massey 2005: 151). Place is always a work in progress; wherever in the world one stands at an intersection of global forces and relationships (spatially uneven in their impact). Place identity is forged from multiple, conflicted, not inherently coherent constructions over time. Places are not simply bounded but a meshwork of the individual and collective. This complex weaving of individual biographies with the material boundaries, and physical activities, is echoed by De Certeau’s meditation on the nature of ‘walking rhetorics’ (1984). Every city is the conduit for countless individual stories paced out by walking feet. He concludes with a description of the relationship between ‘spatial practices and the constructed order’: ‘The surface of this order is everywhere punched and torn open by ellipses, drifts, and leaks of meaning: it is a sieve order’ (During 1993: 160; see Spencer and Cox 2018).

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108 Visual Research and Social Realities Take a step back from your everyday walk to work or to the shop or the park. Consider that place, and how people see it. Is it the result of accumulated historical uses of the land as well as how our cultural values operate at the time? How appropriate is the theory of ‘dwelling’ in relation to these places? Sociologically, we know that the present is the result of dialectical changes which shape how we live. While landscapes may appear timeless, they also change constantly. There are tensions between private and public land, conservation and house building, flows of people; patterns of migration and trade and border zones between political and social territories are a constant issue in many countries. How we designate spaces: cities’ metro areas, inner and greater, town centres and suburbia, housing estates, villages, ‘outdoors’, green belts, parks, agricultural land, countryside, ‘wilderness’. These categories and divisions are always socially mediated; never outside of representation. In a 2015 Australian film, Last Cab to Darwin, a terminally ill cab driver embarks on a last road trip to Darwin seeking euthanasia. In true road movie style, the landscape plays an important role, just as it is central to the western. One of the features is a tree festooned with hanging bodies of cats known as the ‘pussy willow’ (Figure 3.1). A quick Google search revealed a number of pictures of a tree with scores of dead cats (these are feral animals which have long plagued the interior of Australia). Robin’s (2009) discussion of how animals are ordered and catalogued in museums extends her analysis to the more general treatment and arrangement of nature, and she includes comments on this grotesque phenomenon: In 2004 historian Darrell Lewis photographed a tree hung with dead feral cats at William Creek on the Oodnadatta track in desert South Australia. In front of the

Figure 3.1 ‘Pussy Willow’ – a tree hung with dead feral cats at William Creek Source: Courtesy Darrell Lewis, author and historian, 2014.

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 109 tree is a handprinted sign, ‘Pussy Willow (Acacia felinata)’. It is a mausoleum, not a museum. Lewis’s dog, Kelly, plays in the foreground, a touch of humour in a grim scene. To echo Dion’s words, such an Australian vernacular landscape has a ‘pretty dark tone’. What sort of society is mirrored in this Australian backyard? (Robin 2009) Are these little anomalies in the relentless arid landscape elements in an invented mythology? Robin (2009) quotes the phrase ‘Australian outback vernacular landscape’.2 This suggests that a landscape is formed through a constant interplay between human and natural structures. How to explain the pussy willow? And there are others (a dingo tree photographed again by Lewis, as well as a shoe tree). What is the significance of these disturbing structures? Robin suggests there are echoes of the convict colony in which criminals were hung up, or a form of ‘hunting heroic’. There are archive images of thylacines,3 pictured hanging from trees prior to skinning. Are the current cat and dog trees signs of the culling of the feral life forms which have plagued the fragile ecosystem, or ominous warnings about the harshness of the landscape? Certainly, there is a dark, even dystopian aspect to such features; a sort of Mad Max aesthetic, a morbid Aussie cultural trope. Robin makes the point that these hanging trees are documents which address a relationship with the natural world, perhaps where culture has strayed into the fearful void of the outback. The same relationship to nature which constructed an outback mythology about Picnic at Hanging Rock, or the Azaria Chamberlain case, or the Ivan Milat murders in the Belanglo National Park (which later inspired the horror film Wolf Creek). Perhaps the fear of the outback stems from the unspoken truth of Australia’s genocidal history. Does this ‘gallows humour’ mask a deeper hidden ‘black-armband’ history? Researcher Tim Crotty, meditating on the meaning of such dismal trophies, commented: The pussy willow seems to speak to a vernacular that is recognisable but can be hard to pin down. There is a kind of trophy mentality “in rural, regional and remote Australia” (as it is often put) in hanging killed meat in the vicinity of the house or machinery shed, particularly if it is considered feral. It can be slaughtered sometimes in astonishing quantities. The government bounty on feral animals is an economic incentive for this, and interestingly it is often pitched as a call to citizenship. Attaching this to more primitive drives really does the trick. Apart from government-sanctioned killing, it doesn’t seem to make much difference for some whether the animal is native or not. Killing snakes and hanging them on a barbed wire fence is still seen as a mark of manhood in many parts. I’m sure I’ve seen these images in photo albums or exhibited in pride of place pinned up on the wall in establishments where blokes gather and bullshit. A big call on the taxidermists in the NT is to deck out public bars with buffalo heads and stuffed crocodiles. What is also interesting is that there is a strange coming together of the regular denizens of these pubs themed by outback recreations and fantasies of their regulars and the grey nomads from Melbourne and Sydney plying the remote parts of the continent in their motor homes. The outback ringer and the self-funded pensioner share a place that appeals to their separate quests. (Tim Crotty, 15 September 2021)4

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110 Visual Research and Social Realities These rich descriptions indicate how the terrain becomes a vast canvas saturated (sometimes polluted) by the masculine outback mythology. More generally, from Kulgera to Kings Cross, ingrained social divisions are projected through the vernacular of our culture shaping the spaces around us. The problem, again, is how to see the surroundings afresh; stepping outside of the grammar we have become inured to. Not to find one’s way in a city may well be uninteresting and banal. It requires ignorance – nothing more. But to lose oneself in a city – as one loses oneself in a forest – that calls for a quite different schooling. Then, signboard and street names, passers-by, roofs, kiosks, or bars must speak to the wanderer like a cracking twig under his feet in the forest. (Benjamin 1996: 598) Benjamin is referring to a different way of looking under the surface of the city beyond its well-known landmarks and thoroughfares. It is an approach to spatiality which linked back to Baudelaire and the idea of the flâneur; a wanderer in a sort of poetic state. There is an emphasis on different ways of drifting through urban spaces, which was dubbed the dérive.5 This is a revolutionary mode of unplanned rapid passage through the city which confounds routinised familiarity, while taking detailed note of the effects of the terrain, as if studying a new and strange phenomenon. The situationist Guy Debord popularised this term, and also the idea of ‘psychogeography’ (a fusion of psychology and geography, which he took to mean ‘the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals’ (Debord 1955: 23)). Perhaps it is no accident that Benjamin compares the urban terrain to the forest. He felt the boundaries between things were being lost: Just as all things, in a perpetual process of mingling and contamination, are losing their intrinsic character while ambiguity displaces authenticity, so is the city. Great cities … are seen to be breached at all points by the invading countryside. Not by the landscape, but by what in untrammelled nature is most bitter: ploughed land, highways, night sky that the veil of vibrant redness no longer conceals. (Benjamin 1979: 59) This complex and shifting boundary between what is perceived as nature or culture is central when considering how we perceive our environment. For example, traditional divisions between the countryside and the city are not easily drawn as objective categories; each type of space helps construct the other. Haraway notes: ‘Nature cannot preexist its construction’ (1992: 296). There are many places in which the ‘intrinsic character’ could be said to be ‘negative space’. If places have identities and are imbued with meaning, it is also suggested that there are ‘non-places’ (a term coined by the French anthropologist Marc Augé ([1992] 2008)). In this view, places like motorways, car parks, pedestrian underpasses, airport lounges, supermarkets, hotel rooms, which are only the means to another end, waiting rooms to the real event, are seen as robbed of identity. ‘Place and non-place are rather like opposed polarities: the first is never completely erased, the second never totally completed; they are like palimpsests on which the scrambled game of identity and relations is ceaselessly rewritten’ (Augé 2008: 64).

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 111 Although many places may fit Auge’s definition of non-place – as sites devoid of history, human relationships, identity; merely contractual spaces of utility – there was a difficulty in measuring these spaces. Bauder set out to find a measure, assessing Auge’s conception by examining the quantum of tourist imagery posted online which would demonstrate the veracity of the dichotomy. Summing up, he found: non-places are ejected in the process of selection out of the tourist photography. Only places with relation, identity or history are depicted in online platforms. And those are represented according to the number of photos at a place equal to the deferral between the opposed polarities of place and non-place. It is important to consider that this is a strictly quantitative argumentation. (Bauder 2016) However, perhaps this depends on individual priorities; for some, work places are not places in which groups of people interact in meaningful ways, but segregated and alienating sites. Indeed, the assessment seems especially fitting to the Taylorist production line, which in the west today is also associated with the millions of people working in call-centres as well as remnant forms of secondary industrial manufacture. These work places, regulated by systems for forensic, impersonal measures of performance and minimal reward, may well be non-places to those employed in them. But perhaps the internet is the best example of

Figure 3.2 Underpass from London Road, Sheffield, 2012

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112 Visual Research and Social Realities a non-place. While not a physical space, it uses the language of real estate, ‘domains’, ‘sites’, ‘chat rooms’, ‘platforms’, technologies in which people are enmeshed. Auge’s definition is perhaps too rigid and polarised. His view also faces criticism that the term stems from a perception of the world in supermodernity, resulting from the process of colonising the world, especially through American commercial globalisation. Nonplaces are juxtaposed to ‘authentic’ uncolonised places. Arguably, this dichotomy ‘recreates the “colonizer” and “colonized” dichotomy that postcolonial studies have sought to move beyond’ (Brown University 2009). Finally, there are always individuals who perceive these spaces differently. Certainly, many places are largely utilitarian, some may have become obsolete, industrial ruins, or condemned housing projects awaiting demolition; abandoned spaces at the edges of the city. However, some of these spaces serve as refuges for those who themselves are neglected and marginalised, and such liminal spaces may exert fascination for others, like the artists and urban explorers discussed in the last chapter. Benjamin is one of a number of influential philosophers and social geographers who have presented social space as central to an understanding of everyday life. For example, Henri Lefebvre’s The Production of Space (1974) criticised much modern theory for taking space as a given rather than a highly problematic and under-theorised concept, a concept in need of its own science which might distinguish between and examine its different forms: mental, physical and social. The social production of space and the contingent relationships or boundaries between concepts we use are apparent in such terms as the global and the local (Robertson’s portmanteau term ‘glocal’ demonstrates their interdependence); relations of centre to periphery, or rural to urban, are cases which point to the continuous process of social change which has a profound effect on the coordinates of our everyday existence. Understanding space and sense of place brings together philosophical concepts of production and dialectical change (Hegel, Marx and Nietzsche) as well as the ‘poetics of space’, urbanisation and consumption (Bachelard, Bataille and Benjamin) and the complex interconnectivity of space, identity and global political changes (Castells, Harvey and Latour). Examples of places and their special significance for specific groups are an increasingly important theme in research. Those contested areas where boundaries of belief and identity intersect demonstrate that place itself is a significant social player in life and hence in sociological research. For example, Blain and Wallis (2007) explore the complex discursive construction of sacred sites in Britain. Sites like Stonehenge and Avebury stone circles throw contradictory conceptions of belief and being into sharp relief. Tensions between ‘new pagans’ and the ‘official’ guardianship of these sites through English Heritage highlight the divergent physical, spiritual and interpretative engagements with these contested areas, often leading to disputes about who should have access and how the land should be used and cared for.Visual anthropological research is important for this type of discussion; the vision of the land itself is perceived quite differently depending on how the site is understood, from pragmatic land management to more poetic and mystical ways of seeing the ‘auratic’ landscape. An example of another contested site was mentioned in Chapter 2. One Mile Dam in northern Australia is a small pocket of land, home to a group of displaced indigenous people to whom it was loaned nearly forty years ago. In a short video sequence (Spencer 2005), one member of the community was recorded talking about the dam itself, which appeared to me to be a roughly rectangular, man-made, stagnant pond. What she said demonstrated to me that the superficial look of a place is not the place at all: ‘The

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 113 government wants this land – they see this dam here but this dam is a dreaming. It’s connected from here to Beleuyen and up to the islands.’ This was an area full of memories and imbued with special meanings, a sacred site with complex connections of clan and totem of which I had only the vaguest, anecdotal understanding. Shortly after, she mentioned that the children could no longer swim in the dam because of the pollution from the nearby petrol storage tanks. This showed me traditional belief about place need not disguise practical concerns for welfare of the community. The process of looking and seeing (like the places themselves) is motivated and shaped by cultural concerns. While the mechanics of vision have a biological and physiological basis, the way in which we ‘see’ the world is culturally ascribed; a learnt, process of recognising and separating predetermined categories and meanings from the visual array before us.

Maps in Visual Research One form which reflects different cultural visions of a territory is the map. As a sign, the map is both iconic, mirroring the actual shape and contour of the land it depicts, and symbolic, employing a variety of conventional codes, symbols to indicate landmarks and features of the landscape. The map appears, at least superficially, to be a naturally denotative sign, showing clear correspondence with the terrain. But in fact, maps are highly constructed and partial in their portrayal of the actual terrain, depending on historically formulated conventions, many of which have become part of the lexicon of cartography, for example, the setting of the Greenwich meridian at 0 degrees, or placing north at the top of the map. These are examples of the cartographic ‘rule of ethnocentricity’; placing one’s own territory as the centre point of a world map appears to be close to a universal convention.The map has always been a means of delineating colonial boundaries between neighbouring states, showing that there is an association with power; as if by drawing lines around a territory, it is controlled and possessed. Maps might be said to strive for increasingly exact representation of the terrain. Jorge Luis Borges parodies this in his famous story about the quest for a perfect map: In that Empire, the craft of Cartography attained such Perfection that the map of a Single Province covered the space of an entire City, and the Map of the Empire itself an entire Province. (Borges [1935] 1998: 325) The fable (which was used by Baudrillard (1983) as an example of how a sign simulates and eventually replaces the thing itself – see Glossary: ‘Simulation’) suggests that the best map would capture the contours of the land exactly, covering inch by inch the entire area, a parody of the positivist quest for knowledge.The closer the created version mirrors experience of the real world, the more valid and reliable it must be. Indeed, the impossible 1:1 scale of this map means that it could actually stand in for or replace the original. There are genuine disputes about the way national maps should be drawn up. The alternative projections to the old Mercator map of the world based on cylindrical rectilinear projection have included the Peter’s projection which is based on the sphere and hence presents the land masses as quite differently proportioned and giving the developing southern part of the world far more prominence and mass than Europe which seems to be significantly atrophied.

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114 Visual Research and Social Realities It is clear that maps operate as metaphors for our relationship to the world. They have evolved arbitrary conventions to represent the real world.They measure political and economic boundaries as well as physical geographical ones. Furthermore, maps can be used in other ways to encompass ideas as tools of satire, and political resistance as a form of artistic expression about shared identity. The map of Australia as presented in my school atlas, I recall, showed the routes of the famous Europeans, navigators and explorers who ‘discovered’ and drew up the state and territory boundaries, and catalogued the indigenous wildlife. The myth of Australia as Terra Nullius (Figure 3.3) or ‘the empty land’, ready to be claimed and colonised, appears to have been used by British colonists. But in fact, there are thought to have been about 750,000 Aboriginal people comprising more than 500 First Nations groups on the continent known today as Australia (Behrendt 2012).6 These were diverse peoples, with evidence of 260 distinct languages and 500 dialects, in interlocking societies across the entire continent. Figure 3.4 gives an idea of the reality of the complex networks of people who lived and farmed and managed all areas of the continent for thousands of years. The divisions on this map correspond to linguistic groupings and their boundaries. David Horton’s map, for example, shows at least 500 different First Nations clan groups or nations, some with land masses not dissimilar to a European country.7 Such maps are an example of the importance of visual artefacts for delineating cultural boundaries and contrasting ethnographic differences and power relations. Official maps and the discourses which generate them may appear to ‘fix’ such boundaries, but actually there is constant movement and often resistance.

Figure 3.3 Empty & Full: (a) Australia as Terra Nullius – map outline, (b) based on 1990s graffiti – outline maps with the word FULL stencilled

Figure 3.4 Pre-colonial map of Australian Aboriginal languages Source: Commons.

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 115

Figure 3.5 ‘Why?’ Indigenous artwork Source: With kind permission of artist Daniel King, 2004.

Coming back full circle, in the 1990s we noticed maps being used in anti-immigration graffiti, outline maps with the word ‘FULL’ stencilled in the middle, suggesting that there was no room for migrants – such is the ideological power of maps. The contested nature of space can also be conveyed through artistic or poetic uses of maps. Figure 3.5 is a confronting artwork by artist Daniel King8 entitled ‘Why?’ A map is roughly outlined in red against black card which looks like a schoolroom blackboard and questions are chalked into the black space around the map. Questions are rhetorical – I, the white viewer, cannot speak (for once). The questions posed are written in longhand on a chalk board. Is this a lesson in the complicit silence of white Australian culture? Posing the questions which the school curriculum didn’t ask us – as white Australians – which it seems the country is in denial about to this day? The challenging questions reinvoke a vision of the brutal subjugation of colonialism. Recounting those stories which were often part of a hidden oral history and have been part of a culture of denial amongst some politicians and revisionist historians who claim they constitute a ‘Black armband view of history’.9 ‘Do you know why there were men, women and children being burned alive and others had their throats or genitals cut and then for the entertainment of the white men were left to run and flap around until they collapsed and died?’ Other questions create an ironic dialogue – ‘Are you going to read the rest of the questions?’ or ‘Do you feel you should say something?’, ‘Do you really want to know?’, ‘Do you really care?’ The map which is like an open wound floating in a sea filled with unanswered questions was presented at the Bunjilaka exhibition at the Melbourne Museum in 2004 to 2005. It demonstrates the border lines between art, social research, politics, history and education. Challenging the injunction to speak out about real and horrific events. Making history tangible is one powerful use of maps. In the way that Horton’s map of Aboriginal tribal groupings before colonisation challenges the silent weight of white

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116 Visual Research and Social Realities history, I recently discovered another powerful map project which makes it harder to dismiss these unconscionable details of frontier history. Having started reading a novel called The Yield by Tara June Winch, about the indigenous people of the Bathurst plains where there is a legacy of genocide, it was strange to think how, as a teenager, I moved through so many of these little towns in New South Wales and Queensland, staying in towns like Goondiwindi, and Moree (and probably many others), oblivious to their hidden history of massacres. A journalist recently called this area ‘Queensland’s Killing Fields’ (see Ellison 2018). I tried to check the location of ‘Massacre Plains’ which features in the novel, in case there was really such a place, but one of the maps that turned up in Google Images suggested that massacre sites are everywhere in every state. Apart from the well-known ones, it is now becoming clear that Australia is one vast traumatic landscape – there are hundreds of massacre sites recorded. The map was produced by the University of Newcastle Colonial Frontier Massacres Project team: ‘Colonial Frontier Massacres in Australia, 1788–1930’. ‘From the moment the British invaded Australia in 1788 they encountered active resistance from the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander owners and custodians of the lands’, the website says. ‘In the frontier wars which continued until the 1960s massacres became a defining strategy to eradicate that resistance. As a result, thousands of Aboriginal men, women and children were killed.’ The website includes a timeline, a list of sources, and an interactive map that provides information about each recorded massacre (defined as the murder of six or more defenceless people). The interactive map is chilling; one hovers above the satellite map and reads off the events, often in the 1830s, where typically 6–30 indigenous people were killed and 0–2 colonists. This was not just random skirmishes, it was all-out war.

Mapping Inner-City Sense of Place These Australian maps are sharply political, they confront the resounding silences of white Australia around issues which politicians would often prefer collective amnesia. By contrast Figure 3.6 is an example of a map which seeks to garner collective expressions of place building a sense of shared regional identity. This example of a ‘Culture Map’ of central Carlisle was part of a community-based arts project (The Carlisle Renaissance) displayed in a city arcade along with several other art projects seeking to involve people and encompass the city and its civic identity. People passing by were asked to add their ‘greatest ever cultural experience in Carlisle (with the broadest possible interpretation)’. These expressions are written or drawn onto a blank postcard and pinned onto the map in the part of the town of significance to them. Some are simple comments of belonging (I lived here for 49 years!); others recommend shops and wares (pictures of pies and sausages); others are more personal statements of lived identity, romantic associations (I fell in love here); some show drug use – images of syringes and marijuana; some are about forms of cultural consumption, referring to dance, music, and one shows an open book headed ‘Poetry Reading’. This scheme, introduced by Paul Taylor and Sue Stockwell in 2009, was part of the West Walls Studio Artists Group’s attempt to revitalise the city and create an identity and a sense of belonging. This hand-painted map of Carlisle reminds us of De Certeau’s meditation on the nature of ‘walking rhetorics’ (1984); the many thousands of city stories paced out by walking feet. A collective Carlisle emerges through a mosaic of indices of pleasure in the city space. Similar maps are used by local city wards

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Figure 3.6 Carlisle ‘Renaissance’ map project created by Paul Taylor and Sue Stockwell, 2009

in Sheffield to involve community residents, for example, a map of a local Sheffield suburb to gather residents’ issues. Locals pinned different-coloured pins onto the area map and wrote comments relating to the area highlighted – e.g. dangerous crossing areas, areas where cars routinely turn illegally, etc. Maps like this are certainly of value for eliciting responses and gathering clusters of local response, and create a sense of civic belonging. Maps, then, are valuable ways of correcting or re-affirming what is important historically and politically, socially or culturally about places. In addition they can be used in research as a technique for eliciting data from people, encouraging reflection about personal memories and experiences of a specific place. In the research below (Spencer and Cox 2018) the intention was to explore the fracture lines within the Sheffield suburb of Broomhall by using interviews with the additional feature of a hand-drawn map. The process of drawing was recorded on video. The map served as a valuable aid to the unfolding narrative about people’s daily lives in the neighbourhood. As individuals sketched out a rough map reflecting on their familiar routes, landmarks, memories, times, events they had witnessed. We found that the act of

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118 Visual Research and Social Realities drawing often elicited vivid recollections as the familiar contours of place were picked out.

Into the Divide: Community Identities and the Visualisation of Place (Full article in Visual Studies, 2017,Vol. 32, No. 2, 97–110.) Research Objective – The research attempted to gather some of the residents’ stories relating to their experience of place in a profoundly divided urban area of Sheffield. At a time when the gap between affluence and poverty had reached its widest point since the 1960s, the aim was to explore relationships between individuals and their sense of place and the trenchant divisions separating communities. Methodology – The methods used to examine this neighbourhood and its residents were varied and included traditional qualitative approaches to data collection: interviews, observation and photo essay of the area and its buildings and gardens, review of neighbourhood documents and newsletters; but central to the investigation was a form of participative mapping. Residents were asked to draw a map of their surroundings while providing a verbal commentary. The mapping and reflective commentary were recorded on video, with focus mainly on the respondent’s hands and the process of drawing the area on the paper. One or two pilot interviews were conducted and relevant research including literature on mapping (e.g. Wheeldon and Faubert 2009) showed a need to expand on the traditional definitions of concept mapping to include more flexible approaches to the collection of visual representations of experience of place. In addition, archive material, early maps and historical records of the area were analysed, and a local news leaflet, The Broomhall News, and local Sheffield newspapers, as well as national television and electronic media stories which have portrayed the suburb, were also considered, providing a sense of the popular mediatised representations of the area. Analysis of the map commentaries ensured a certain grounded and inductive approach to the map data rather than overly abstract schemes of analysis. As Wheeldon and Faubert (2009: 69) suggest, there are progressive possibilities for data analysis when working with respondent-created maps: By basing data analysis on participant-centric visual representations of experience, maps offer a unique means to ground theory within data (Glaser and Strauss 1967) and can assist researchers in refining subsequent data collection strategies. As such, using maps might provide a middle ground in the long-standing discussion about how systematic analysis within qualitative research can unfold. A suburb of sharp contrasts (Figures 3.7 and 3.8). One resident exclaimed there was a marked divide between brick and stone, referring to the architectural divide between the stone-built manors in the very affluent side of Broomhall (Broomhall Park) and the largely brick area of social housing, high-rise and terraces (note the top left corner highrise with cladding which was later removed as it was the same as the cladding which led to the tragedy of the Grenfell Tower fire). The study began with conversations with an associate who was resident in the suburb and had been involved in several local projects and was working as a senior

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Figure 3.7 Contrasts in Brick & Stone – red brick of Broomhall flats (a)

Figure 3.8 Stone-built mansion – Broomhall, Sheffield (b)

Figure 3.9 Participative mapping: (a) Respondent 2, (b) Respondent 3

community consultant, aware of the history and legacy of the area and the different communities thrown together there. One day when we had planned to record a walk around the neighbourhood, the weather took a turn for the worse and, instead, I got sheets of paper and pens and recorded his reflections on a spontaneously drawn map. It was a really useful exercise and led to the inclusion of this approach for residents who had agreed to be involved. Here are two examples (Figure 3.9). Respondent 2 showed the development of the map and the features emerging as he talked us through his perception of the main routes and boundaries and what he knew about the area he lived in. With Respondent 3 (a recently arrived Moroccan migrant), the detail of the map was restricted to his own house and the pathways he trod when he walked his children to the school; he was reluctant to draw but insisted instead on showing us his gardens, which were extensive and demonstrated his energy and community spirit. He had obtained some recognition from the local council and the mayor; he had won awards for his gardening which he extended to surrounding areas on the estate, and council workers

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120 Visual Research and Social Realities had installed some additional fencing for his patch; he worked tirelessly to create green spaces for the surrounding flats and clear hazardous waste from gardens, including a notorious feature in a small playground: a small tree had become a ‘porcupine’ of used syringes. Overall, though, the maps were a successful adjunct to the interview and provided a focal point to talk and remember incidents, and landmarks where they had occurred. This glimpse of a research project demonstrates the value of an integrated visual method, to focus attention on a diverse area. The mapping and interviews opened up a dialogue about the place and the individual connections and feelings with the area: feelings of belonging or alienation, safety or anxiety, and awareness of physical or social boundaries. A key finding was, unsurprisingly, that perceptions of the suburb depended very much on whether the person was a long-term resident or a transitory one, how long the person had lived there and where in the suburb they lived. The identities of different individuals were very much a factor and the dominant notion that emerged was that there was almost a total divide between the leafy suburban area known as Broomhall Park, an area of old style stone-built villas, and the area divided by Brunswick Street on the other side, which was a mix of social housing and brick terraces.

Locating the Site There are many different ways to see the landscape. Drawing a map is one method, which opens pathways of memory, linking the contours of the past and the events which are entangled with places in our minds. Using digital aerial and street views on Google Earth and Street Level gives a disembodied sense of an area; its landmarks, businesses and restaurants balloon up of course, but also cultural centres, and the incidental activity and character of the street, the clusters of pedestrians, parked cars and the stuff people keep in the front of their houses. While the contours are pin sharp, as we would expect from satellite technology which can pick up number plates and large lettering, faces and licence plates are blurred during post-processing of the photos to protect privacy. Despite the extraordinary clarity, which enables us to re-examine areas, it is always going to be a representation; as Appleton et al. (2002: 147) commented: ‘reality will always exceed our ability to simulate it’. Like the Borgesian fable of the map, the task of ‘covering’ the world is always going to fall short, it can never capture the sensory complexity. And yet the virtual reality version of a place may become so beguilingly close to the actual place that we can feel ‘transported’. Exploring the road between Kulgera in central Australia and the opal mining town of Coober Pedy where I had travelled as a teenager, on Google Earth, had me boosting the cursor down that endless stretch of the Stuart Highway, passing through the endless red and pink land, skimming over the distorted outline of road trains and well-equipped fourwheel-drive wagons. It certainly brought back a sensory echo of the terrain. The Kulgera Roadhouse (Figure 3.10) is still reminiscent of the place in 1976, but obviously much more tourist-friendly – no sign of the horse trough in what is now a petrol station and more extensive commercial venue. There was another strange new feature, a broken Hills hoist has been made into an eccentric ‘shoe tree’ standing in the forecourt. I zipped down the road towards Coober Peedy and collected a few images of the endless mulga, acacia and spinifex landscape, the tones of pink and red and ochre attractive at this distance, but I recalled (as a hitchhiker) the anxiety of being stuck out there on this desolate highway or trying to find shade under those dusty sage-coloured trees.

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Figure 3.10 Google Earth images: (a) Kulgera Roadhouse, (b) Desert scene along the Stuart Highway

So far, this chapter has discussed the construction of place as a vital player in understanding social relations. Maps are artefacts which condense cultural knowledge in different ways. In official Ordnance Survey maps through recognised and precise mapping conventions they provide accurate and reliable guidance to the terrain. In other more individual, hand-drawn maps (shown in Figure 3.9) we might elicit special inside knowledge, memories and personal narratives about places which would be more difficult to access in a conventional purely verbal exchange. Hand-drawn maps are an expressive method for reclaiming the lived experience of place identity through the act of drawing. Using a performative ‘hands-on’ task allows more active, existential engagement.The next section focuses on the city and the complex, often contradictory visions gathered from exploring the city with a camera.

Exploring the City The city has a special place in sociological thought. It can be argued that the discipline of sociology emerged from a fascination with the chaotic transition to urban life following the French and the Industrial Revolutions (Nisbet 1967; Karp et al. 1991). The old agrarian order in Europe broke up and was replaced by new, secular forms of urban, industrial life. Nisbet identified five crucial themes stemming from this pivotal transition which were the most evocative for sociology: ‘the condition of labor, the transformation of property, the industrial city, technology and the factory system’ (1967: 24). In the early twentieth century, Robert Parks and other Chicago School sociologists focused on urban life using qualitative methods, ethnography and life histories, to explore patterns of community life. These themes, and the rapid urban transition that transformed social life so dramatically, became the core concern of much of sociology. In the third millennium the technological shifts in production create a constantly changing environment. The early work of Manuel Castells suggested that, essentially, today the urban should primarily be seen as the sphere of collective consumption. He suggests that, advanced capitalism’s central organisation of the metropolitan region diminishes the importance of physical environment in the determination of the system of functional

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122 Visual Research and Social Realities and social relationships, annuls the distinction between “rural” and “urban”; and places in the forefront of the “dynamic” society, the historic meeting place of social relations which form its basis. (1978: 27) This view of the changing dynamic of the city has been very influential. Castells’s vision showed that cities should be understood precisely in terms of the complex relation between the state, transitions in modes of production and technology, ‘collective consumption’, labour, social movements and global networks (see Susser 2002). With these changing conditions at the heart of the city in mind, the following section discusses the visible and multi-sensorial dimensions of walking through the city, using visual methods to unearth the layers of dialectic change, contradictions and the accumulated meanings built up in popular culture around the lived reality of the city.The complex existential and evolving reality of urban spaces means that cities exist in many forms and visual depiction is at best partial and fragmentary. The visions of the city which have gone before are part of a flow of meaning; strands of representation add to a growing popular mythology through which the city is known, and gathers reputation and character. Rob Shields makes the point that cities cannot be understood in any simple close-ended fashion: rather than disapprove of representations because of their treacherous selective vision of the city, we need to construct multi-dimensional analyses which, rather than imposing monological coherence and closure, allow parallel and conflicting representations to coexist in analysis … leads to a dialogic approach to the spatialisation of the urban. (Shields 1996: 245) There are many different ways of seeing and understanding the city. Usually, our encounters are short and purposeful ones directed to one form of consumption or another: shopping for items which can’t be had locally, visiting galleries, cinemas or museums, passing through for work, eating out or meeting in a particular pub. So, to examine the city as a resource which might enrich the discussion of visual methods means to see it with different eyes. To achieve this analysis photographs were accumulated from a series of critical, visual forays around Sheffield, a city in South Yorkshire. The Five Weirs Walk runs along the banks of the Don in Sheffield, from Lady Bridge to Meadowhall, weaving through the suburbs of Attercliffe, Carbrook and Brightside. In early summer, the variety of plant and bird life is striking. The intensive industry in the region caused the river to become amongst the most polluted in Europe.There are stories that salmon were once very plentiful. Once upon a time, the River Don was counted among the most successful salmon fisheries in the land. Rumour has it that young Sheffield apprentices, bored with eating so much salmon, had it written into their contracts that they would only be fed salmon three times a week! (Waterscape.com) But the once toxic river has changed. Rapid de-industrialisation of the city, clean-up campaigns and the preservation of a ‘green belt’ around the river have improved the situation. In 2020, the completion of a ‘fish pass’ at Masborough Weir removed the last

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Figure 3.11 Industrial ruins along the Sheffield and Tinsley Canal Source: (a) Spencer (2009); (b) Surridge (2009).

obstacle for the fish to make their way up and down the River Don from the North Sea. This means that for the first time in 200 years salmon have been reported in the river near Sheffield (BBC News, June 2020). Along the trail between the alders and willows, fig trees are also to be seen. The story behind them is another dialectical relationship between the history of industry and its long-term consequences. A notice-board at Brightside Weir informs us: ‘Fig trees are believed to originate from seeds in sewage, which germinated because the river water was repeatedly heated by steelworks along its banks’ (Sheffield City Council and Arcus 2007). These river and canal walks through Sheffield are journeys through a post-industrial landscape (Figure 3.11); certainly, re-greened but veined with industrial history. Sections of the Five Weirs Walk take you past many scrap metal merchants and the walk culminates near the dark prominence of the still operating Forgemasters, where the largest steel castings in the western world are produced, primarily for the Ministry of Defence which acquired the business in 2021. So, the metals still flow along this valley, and ironically parts of the walk were sporadically closed because of concern about metal theft. The factories which still line the waterways are barricaded behind razor wire and broken-glass-topped walls, signs warn of CCTV security in operation, and one new suspension bridge built for walkers was closed because metal struts had been stolen. Here again, it is useful to examine the ways of looking; there are intersecting discourses, modes of consuming a landscape which is in a state of fluidity; landscapes shaped by capitalism are later destroyed and superseded at each new crisis (see e.g. Harvey 1985). Here the ‘natural history’ and ‘romantic’, ‘collective’ or ‘spectatorial’ gazes (MacNaghten and Urry 1998: 119), the modes of visual consumption through which we might frame the walking tracks, collide with the disciplinary discourses of surveillance and protection of private property, as well as scholarly industrial archaeology which has gathered relics of the industrial system. The divisions at the heart of the city go further than the obvious transition from the rural landscape to the birth and development of mass industry and the rapid growth of urban populations. Cities could be considered to produce the idea of ‘the natural’; nature as a form of social space to be consumed. This is true insofar as cities provide an inevitable contrast to what is considered ‘nature in the raw’ (see Short 2006: 177–80).

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124 Visual Research and Social Realities There are the bounded and manicured ‘green’ areas; green belts which girdle the cities, gardens, parks, leafy suburbs, and ‘nature strips’ (an Australian term for the precious grass verges in residential areas) and the well-trammelled and maintained areas of the Peak District National Park. These are the officially accepted bounded areas but there is also the unplanned irruption of nature within the city’s confines: on waste ground and derelict areas, in the cracks and interstices of the city. A city at once deeply seamed with industry and yet the greenest city in England (‘It’s a surprising fact but it would be hard to find a city with more open green space than Sheffield. Despite its urban location almost three-quarters of the city is taken up by natural vegetation and waterways’ (Live in Sheffield). Tim Edensor (2005) comments on the remains of once vigorous industry as stigmatised landscapes – ‘matter out of place’ (Douglas 1966). While popular civic discourse denies the validity of industrial ruins in favour of ‘an impossibly seamless urban fabric’, Edensor argues that such spaces provide a rejoinder to this desire to eradicate, to commodify, to reduce the signs of obsolescence to bland middle-class aesthetics (in which steelworks become palaces of shopping) and to ‘broader tendencies to fix meanings in the service of power’. How should these areas and artefacts be viewed? On the one hand they are monuments to the enormous productive power of capitalist industry and the nostalgic remains of a superseded order which carelessly discards its apparatus: a relentlessly rational process which steamrollers landscapes (and working lives) in its impassive progress.Yet it can be argued that such ruins are not just the follies of grandiose human endeavour (like the romance of the ruins of eternal Greco-Roman architecture so beloved of the Victorians); they could also be read as indices of the fragility of capitalist enterprise. The debris of industrial culture teaches us not the necessity of submitting to historical catastrophe, but the fragility of the social order that tells us this catastrophe was necessary. The crumbling of the monuments that were built to signify the immortality of civilisation become proof, rather, of its transiency. And the fleetingness of temporal power does not cause sadness; it informs political practice (Buck-Morss 1991: 170). Passing the towering foundry buildings of Forgemasters as you leave the river walk, overlooking Hadfield Weir, the sparkling cream and turquoise roofs of Meadowhall Shopping Centre, with its green panopticon dome, come into view. Inside, between the avenues of familiar brands (now mostly lost from the actual city centre), until very recently one of the plazas houses a group of steelworkers cast in bronze (Figure 3.13). A statue which reminds us that the roots of industry are not far below the surface; this shopping mall was built on the foundations of a steel foundry; industrial heritage rising heroically from the ashes into a palace of consumption. Walking back through the city centre, another anomalous figure, an icon of industry, captures the character of the city. This mounted ‘botanic’ figure clothed in succulent plants is in the shape of a steelworker. ‘Sheffy Stan’ is having the last coleus plants fitted in front of the Town Hall (Figure 3.12).

Signs of Diversity – Spectres of Multiculturalism What I remembered about Fitzalan Square as a student in the late 1970s was the Classic Cinema (which burned down in 1984), and the monumental Central Post Office with

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Figure 3.12 A ‘botanic’ statue of a steelworker ‘Sheffy Stan’ (Sheffield)

Figure 3.13 ‘Teeming’ – bronze statue by Robin Bell (1991) – Meadowhall Shopping Centre

its marble pillars (having fallen into neglect, as a building at risk it was rescued by Sheffield Hallam University, and became their Institute of Arts in 2016). Walking around the Square today, a cluster of bohemian cafés have sprung up in the block where the concrete façade of the Classic once stood. There are signs of regeneration; the money lenders, betting shops have moved. Just across from this cultural hub stands the statue of Edward VII now standing in an island of manicured lawn. The statue by Alfred Drury (1856–1944) bristled with protective wires to keep pigeons away. Each face of the plinth contained a relief scene in Pre-Raphaelite style. In ‘Philanthropy’ (Figure 3.14b), a saintly shrouded Britannia figure is bestowing beneficence on the poor in the form of what appears to be a building, perhaps a hospice (or a workhouse?). The same figure in another relief scene entitled ‘Unity’ (Figure 3.14a) selflessly extends imperial power and wisdom uniting the peoples of the world. This sort of colonial legacy can be observed in many British cities and indeed such representations are embedded in the city. Imagery is of subjugation; passive and respectful subjects receiving the bounty of Empire. The subject nations portrayed, interestingly largely through female forms, imploring African and Asian women hold a hand on either side of the impassively merciful and angelic figure. These common romantic myths of otherness are deep-seated in cities around Britain. These paternalistic figures remind us that British cities, like Sheffield, depended on the exploitation of colonial resources for their very existence. Charles Lemert (2006) comments: In Europe, racism owes more, of course, to its overt colonial past. As America tried to avoid the truth of its racial crimes by the pretence that she was not a colonizer, most European colonizing nations buffered themselves, until of late, from internal racial conflicts by keeping colonial subjects in the remove of distant colonies.

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Figure 3.14 Relief panels on a statue of Edward VII, Fitzalan Square: (a) ‘Unity’; (b) ‘Philanthropy’; (c) Sheffield – Where everyone matters

But as the colonial period came to an end, these same colonies: were indispensable to the building of its economic power in the capitalist world system. When the colonial system ended, at least officially, Europe was left with the need the colonies fulfilled – cheap labor to mine natural resources and produce the goods and services required of capitalist expansion. (ibid.) The point is that these mute beacons of subjugation are not merely a reminder of a distant historical period when the world was carved into colonial possessions for a handful of elite European nations, but they are also an affirmation of the continued dynamics of an inequality in the world maintained by the neo-colonial world order. Elsewhere in the city one stumbles on more contemporary signs communicating the changing concepts of ethnic incorporation into the city. The 1980s mural glimpsed in Broomhall (discussed in Chapter 2) signifies an idealised community-centred arts project, a sort of cultural rainbow alliance for the once ‘vibrant’ African Caribbean community. Looking at the dereliction of the area – faded dreams of multicultural harmony which never came to fruition. In the same vein this City Council billboard delivers a very similar message for 2009: ‘Sheffield – where everyone matters’, another celebratory multicultural discourse in which a smiling woman, in colourful traditional dress, demonstrates dance steps to an enthused mixed group (Figure 3.14c). Today, the ‘narrative’ and accompanying ‘optics’ have changed completely.‘Multiculturalism’ is no longer being promoted as something to ‘celebrate’, and the support may be precarious ‘even among those who express more tolerant, inclusive understandings of British society related to immigration and Brexit in opinion polls’ (Warikoo 2019: 1). There is evidence that, instead, there is a review of archives, street names, statues to ensure the colonial past is not being celebrated and that representation is more inclusive

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 127 (Williams 2021). Councillor Abtisam Mohamed, executive member for poverty, fairness and equality at the council, said: Our streets, buildings and monuments tell the story of this city and shape our experience, understanding and relationship with it. This report and the work of the Race Equality Commission is an opportunity to go forward and establish an honest and reflective relationship with Sheffield’s history and heritage, not to rewrite or shame, but to tell a balanced story and to learn for the future. Our diverse communities are the living soul of this city, we want all of them to feel valued and at home here, that their roots are honoured and respected, and for Sheffield’s story to be inclusive, up-to-date and authentic. For that to happen those stories have to be told by the people who live within them and are part of Sheffield’s next chapter. (The Star, July 2021) These contradictory and hybrid elements embedded in the fabric of the city seem to offer insight into Walter Benjamin’s idea of the dialectical image – ‘that moment produced by the collision of the “objective” forces of nature/culture and our own “subjective” experience as socio-historical beings’ (Szekely 2006: 1–2). For Benjamin, images can have a dialectical effect: ‘An image is dialectics at a standstill …’ (Benjamin 1999: 462). Certain images do seem to have the power to crystallise the dynamics of social change, to capture events which are occurring: ‘What has been comes together in a flash with the now to form a constellation’ (ibid.). This suggests that images can act as catalysts in the process of change. However, it is unclear from Benjamin’s work exactly whether such an image is possible; in many ways it would be a paradox, a contradiction in terms. Auerbach (2007) suggests that such an image might be like a Venn diagram, making intersecting conceptual fields transparent. Perhaps there are dialectical images everywhere when the mind and eye are attuned to the inherent paradoxes and the multiple social realities which stir between the crumbling, over-layered façades and the sleek seamless surfaces of the city. Unifying nature and culture in a historical emblem of the city’s past gives ‘botanic man’ some of the proposed features of dialectic imagery, wherein changing social history becomes playfully assimilated as an annual public figure. The suggestion of culture as ‘nature’ rings alarm bells as it has long been associated with the process of ideology (whereby false consciousness and inverted power relations present a ‘natural’ order of things, and the highly constructed, from margarine to cosmetic surgery, becomes naturalised). For Benjamin this refusal to reject reification is essential: ‘For [Benjamin] what is historically concrete becomes image – the archetypal image of nature as of what is beyond nature – and conversely nature becomes the figure of something historical’ (Adorno 1992: 226). So instead of an ideological pitfall, it is the recognition of important critical relationships. Images such as these, drawn from the everyday array of sights, have arguably become habitual, a ‘natural’ or at least an immanent part of our everyday experience of being in the city. The images seem to be part of a taken-for-granted narrative of the city; like Jarvis Cocker’s lyrics10 about the hidden rivers of industrialisation weaving and interlacing beneath our feet.

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Pandemic Space – The ‘Inertia of the Real’ Perhaps the current coronavirus crisis is an indicator – that our system is fragile and ‘without this suspension nothing new can emerge’. The city, Barker’s Pool, seemed deserted. Momentarily, I did a double take at the sight of two figures, comrades in arms, clearly breaking social distancing rules, as they stood by the steps of City Hall. But of course, it’s only the statue of the ‘Women of Steel’ (Figure 3.15).11 The fountain is still and the long shadow of the war memorial slices across the square in early April light. Further on, Fargate, a pedestrian mall, is also deserted apart from a few people queuing outside a bank and more homeless people than I remembered ever seeing; reclaiming the space. (This was before the local government took about eighty homeless people off the street, providing temporary refuge in bed and breakfast places and hotels.) The first ‘lockdown’ in the UK, from 23 March to 23 June 2020, had imposed a strict and radical injunction on the uses of space and the disciplinary boundaries of bodies. Staying in, or in a tight radius to the home, social distancing and the wearing of masks when venturing out to the few shops still open became the norm. Surveillance and police presence in public places was initially increased. People in close proximity to one another were at times questioned to check they were in ‘a bubble’ or were only travelling for essential purposes. In the nearby Peak District countryside, drones were used to spot walkers who had travelled outside the tacit boundary of reasonable radius for exercise. This surveillance reduced the use of motor vehicles for non-essential journeys, until in places wildlife was seen recolonising public spaces. For a few months ‘the machine stopped’. In recent years a number of catastrophic global events, which have been simmering beneath the surface for a very long time, seemed to erupt: the ecological crisis of global warming which having gathered momentum could no longer be denied or diffused, the after-effects of war and drought, famine and poverty stemming from the bigger ripples of centuries of colonial exploitation and more recent failed revolutionary movements like the ‘Arab Spring’ or western ‘interventions’ seeking regime change, creating a surge of migrants arriving on the shores of ‘fortress Europe’, and then the first, recent, fully-fledged pandemic in several generations, and twenty years earlier the explosion of organised terrorist attacks, extreme right-wing militias and Islamic jihadis. All of these jolts to the collective psyche arguably produce a state of existential anxiety, rendering the places we live ‘uncanny’; in Heidegger’s term ‘das unheimlich’ – literally un-homelike, unfamiliar. Describing the vision of many post-apocalyptic films and specifically I Am Legend, in which New York has become a derelict wasteland reclaimed by nature, Zizek claims that: ‘What we experience at this moment is the inertia of the real, the mute presence beyond meaning’ (Zizek 2012). In other words, as Walter Benjamin suggests, a sense of history is only understood when we see the wastage of industrial society being reclaimed by nature. The visions these disasters bring allow a different perspective which is impossible in the full flow of capitalist production. The other feature of our cityscapes is the constant sense of vigilance for something suspicious, possibly terrorists in our midst; successive campaigns in the UK which include posters and electronic displays, as well as constant audio announcements in stations, subways, on trains, in airports, and in shopping centres. In the image above (Figure 3.16) a dark figure stacks plastic containers possibly containing chemicals next to a bin. The video has several scenes which are then rewound and a

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Figure 3.15 Pandemic space: statue of ‘Women of Steel’, Barker’s Pool, Sheffield (April 2020)

Figure 3.16 ‘Look Again’, exhorting vigilance in a London shopping centre (2019)

potentially worrying detail is homed in on, it is being filmed as there is a red light and sign CAM 001 and REC in red, and the red bracketed words ‘LOOK AGAIN’ – as if seen through a viewfinder. The text reads: COMMUNITIES DEFEAT TERRORISM Reporting won’t ruin lives but it may save them If it doesn’t feel right ACT The grainy realism of this scene is followed by a close-up of the yellow triangular labels on the plastic containers. The message in between these scenes is ‘Unfortunately Life has no rewind button’.This video was played on a constant loop between advertising material in a busy shopping mall in East London. The ‘See it, Say it, Sorted’ campaign launched in 2016 was designed by government, police, and the rail industry; it called for heightened vigilance and the chanted mantra was relayed at many public settings (similar to the US Homeland Security’s ‘If You See Something, Say Something’). A range of posters depicted shady figures, involved in ambiguous activities. The first of these created a public outcry because it featured a dark-skinned bearded character being observed by a young paleskinned woman, with the text: ‘Are they wearing a big coat to hide something?’ This poster was removed ‘due to its likeness to Nazi propaganda used for the 1937 Eternal Jew exhibition’12 (Emerson 2018: 5). Emerson (2018) suggests that we have become ‘vigilant subjects’ as this panopticon becomes embedded in the banal routines of everyday life. Relating the internalisation of such messaging to Foucault’s conception of governmentality, Emerson asserts that: ‘Vigilance works through individuals. Technologies of domination regiment how subjects interact in the world, while those of the self engender a particular disposition towards oneself, others, and the world’ (2018: 3–4).The argument made by the authorities who create these campaigns is that, although they are annoying and have been parodied, they are leading to genuine exposure and prevention. These different visions of the city recall the phrase used by sociologist Les Back in an interview in 2006. He argued that the reality of our cities and our lives is that of a multiculture. ‘I don’t think we can understand contemporary forms of life in Britain (or

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130 Visual Research and Social Realities anywhere else for that matter) without understanding the traces of the past in the present and the far in the near’ (interview with Les Back, Roehampton University, 15 July 2006). The impacts are at once very personal but the result of historically deep cultural change coursing through every part of the country, and across the world. They are ingrained in the places we live, our institutions and our cultural practices. The realm of representation gives these contradictory and disturbing discourses their cultural form, like throwing paint over an invisible assailant. Images can at times highlight the less visible dialectical processes, providing ‘specified generalisations’. Conversely, visual campaigns and carefully choreographed spectacles are always being used in attempts not only to create alertness and responsibility, but also, at times, to obfuscate and spin events and to foreground expedient political readings.

Video Ethnography: Walking with a Camera This account has attempted to mirror meandering progress made through the industrial hinterlands and the city streets with a camera capturing the obvious, and for that reason often overlooked, iconography. The result is a series of disorderly observations stumbled upon in the course of walking through areas of a city and trying to see them in a different, less familiar light. This tradition of the dérive enables the researcher to abandon purposeful movement between A and B and be attuned to other flows and nodes in the energy of the city. The city is a resource and we are so used to its structures and thoroughfares it can sometimes reveal the unexpected when we cast off the rational, and explore the spaces on foot. There appears to be a relationship between the physical movement and rhythms of walking and the telling of stories, recounting of memories, tracing a community’s pathways and folkways. On the face of it, such a connection might seem tenuous and folksy, hard to substantiate. However, a piece of video research which we embarked upon in 2007 demonstrated that for some forms of research there is no substitute for walking through the area in question (in this case the former site of Africville near Halifax in Nova Scotia) with a respondent who has stories and life experiences about the area. This is nothing new and walking and thinking and storytelling seems to have a long tradition in many cultures around the world. This is acknowledged by anthropologists and other researchers. Lee and Ingold make the point that walking is often central to research too: ‘Walking around is fundamental to the everyday practice of social life’ and ‘to much anthropological fieldwork’ (2006: 67). Ingold and Vergunst (2008) give credence to there being fruitful interconnections between walking and storytelling; narrative trails, footsteps and tracks are like the words on a page. They argue that: Walking is a profoundly social activity: in their timings, rhythms and inflections the feet respond as much as does the voice to the presence and activity of others. Social relations, we maintain, are not enacted in situ but are paced out along the ground. (2008: 1) Visual anthropologist Sarah Pink discuss how walking reveals the nature of the places and associations created by routes which people use.This focus on walking and understanding of ‘the routes and mobilities of others’ (Pink 2007: 68) has in the last ten to fifteen years been taken up effectively by many practitioners of visual methods.

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Contested Spaces: 1. Africville In 2007 a research team from Sheffield visited Nova Scotia. We were fortunate to meet with Irvine Carvery who was then the President of the Africville Genealogical Association, an organisation that has been spearheading the movement for proper reparations to those who were removed from their homes when the township of Africville was destroyed between 1964 and 1967. For the Carvery family it was vital that memory of Africville and the story of how they lost their childhood home be kept alive, and the land restored to the families who lived there. Africville (probably derived from the name African Village) was an area beside the Bedford Basin near Halifax in Nova Scotia which it is claimed had existed as a township since the 1750s. The area is now known as Seaview Park (an ‘off-leash’ dog walking area). But it has been the site of a struggle for social justice and reparation since it was destroyed by the city of Halifax authorities over fifty years ago. Images from the 1960s show the stark division between the city of Halifax and Africville. Bob Brooks documented the life of the community (e.g. Figure 3.17) and some of his pictures show the way the city kept the community at ‘arm’s length’ at the periphery of the ‘official’ built and finished environment, separated by areas of rough scrub, and the end of the sealed road which stopped just short of the community. Other services were also not extended to the 400 or so people of Africville: sewers, running water, electricity, garbage collection, fire or police protection, even though taxes were levied on the inhabitants. In addition to these forms of exclusion the community was subjected to degradation of their land and resources by the proliferation of unhealthy, toxic and dangerous industries; the sewage run-off from the city and the city dump which was relocated there in 1958 (being seen as too close to the city) and later even toxic waste-disposal pits for PCBs (highly toxic, persistent organic pollutant compounds which have now been banned). Certainly, the location of these industries followed a pattern of disregard for ‘Africvillians’. It is easier of course to locate such facilities where there is a marginalised minority community who have been effectively disenfranchised and are outside of the voting constituency of the city. Thus, a stigmatised and displaced area becomes the plausible site for damaging waste.This form of environmental injustice/ racism has been discussed in many similar situations. It demonstrates Michel de Certeau’s concept of ‘spatial purification’ in action: ‘we have the rejection of whatever is not treatable and that, thus, constitutes the garbage of a functionalist administration (abnormality, deviance, sickness, death, etc)’ (1985: 127). The African Canadians whose labour built the city of Halifax were not wanted in the civic centre of the city and thus set up their own town at arm’s length. But the quality of conditions in Africville became so degraded after decades of polluting industries. The town seemed to have become a sign of equally ‘untreatable’ segregation and shameful social exclusion. But the many constructions of Africville as a run-down shanty town or slum are only one side of the picture, an outsider’s view which was convenient for the commercial interests which were intent on reclaiming the land for road and housing development. Such degraded descriptions have been strongly contested. And it is clear from photographs that many of the houses were free-standing and of a good size and many were well built, and clearly the object of pride to their owners. Denise Allen, whose family originated in Africville, believes that there was a rich and picturesque community and that describing Africville as an abject slum was propagandist when in fact it could be compared favourably to the housing available today. In a video interview in 2007 she described the township thus:

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132 Visual Research and Social Realities The community of Africville was beautiful, it was more beautiful than Peggy’s Cove13 at the time it was destroyed … at the time it was destroyed – but what do they like to depict? They like to depict sides of Africville that weren’t very charming to the eye, weren’t very attractive: they didn’t see the roses, they didn’t see the blueberry bushes, they didn’t see the strawberries. They didn’t see the fact that we had homes that looked better than the homes I’m living in right now – that I paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for. (Spencer and Samuels 2008) Institutional discourses that arose in the wake of urban renewal projects in other parts of Canada set the agenda in the local situation and set the process of destruction in motion, generating pictures of Africville as a slum, a health hazard, a disgraceful example of neglect and division. Labelling the community a slum was a mark of shame and embarrassment for well-meaning white liberals, but more pragmatic for urban developers who had drawn up plans to develop the Bedford Basin and saw the township as an obstacle. The experience of walking through the site was rendered especially meaningful as the backdrop to Irvine’s narrative (Figure 3.18). I felt I could almost ‘see’ the houses, the children and the community’s church, where now there were only people with so many dogs. Indeed, it felt heterotopic; beneath the grass was a town which, somehow, still existed and could alter the way the landscape around me was perceived. Although the route we walked did not correspond to the original Africville roads and tracks, for Irvine and others the area is laden with meaning; the park is only a veneer overlaying the original site and its rich community history. In the context of Africville this traumatic experience of dispossession is a legacy of injustice.The facts of the area’s degradation through what appears to be a history of neglect and environmental racism for the people of Africville (treating them, as Irvine suggested, as ‘sub-human’) are stark and well documented. However, the more positive aspects of living in this village, which was certainly an independent, resourceful and tightly knit community, survive in oral reports and in a few photographs (for example, those of Bob Brooks) and some film material.

Figure 3.17 Two Africville children, with Seaview African United Baptist Church and houses behind it in the distance Source: Image by Bob Brooks, 1967; with permission of Public Archives of Nova Scotia.

Figure 3.18 Dog walkers watch our progress as Irvine Carvery leads us through ‘Africville’ Source: Still from video: Samuels 2008.

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Figure 3.19 Stills from a short video walk in Africville in 2007 Source: Camera work: Lloyd Samuels.

In the sequence above (Figure 3.19), the walk and interview/narrative were recorded on location in Seaview Dog Park. Irvine invited us to meet up there and the resulting video record gives a unique insight into this contested space and the strength of such recollections, especially when they are taking place in context, to re-create a sense of place and evoke the experience of those who lived in the area which was lost when the bulldozers finished their work in 1967. One can only imagine the trauma experienced when, with little warning, one house at a time was destroyed and nobody knew whose house was next in line. During our walk it became clear that Irvine believed that walking the land in question was important for their case. Walking is performative knowledge, a sort of embodied knowing through tracing the steps of the community, sharing the landmarks that situated their lives. Recounting an important turning point in the quest for proper recognition of what had been done to the people of Africville, Irvine had contacted Doudou Diène, one of the UN rapporteurs for the G7 (held in Halifax in March 2004), suggesting that he should come out to the site to make his own mind up about the case: I said you have to come with me to Africville – you need to walk the land; you need to feel it. Right? Because he was African – and I said Well, I know this man will understand what I’m talking about. So, I brought him out here and we walked and talked, and then when he gave his report back his recommendation was that the people of Africville be compensated … first of all given an apology and compensated. (Irvine Carvery, recorded 2008)

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134 Visual Research and Social Realities The above stills sequence records several other key pieces of narrative. First, discussing the origins of the settlement, Irvine suggested that Africville had over 200 years of existence, with records of Maroons being there from 1750. He also gave powerful testimony to the degradation of the settlement, including a history of dumping PCBs, making the site one of the most toxic in Canada. The bottom sequence deals with the memory of how children jumped on the train as it passed through and threw down a few lumps of coal, and were actually shot at by the transport police (see Spencer 2012). Irving’s recounting of everyday events there was a powerful affirming discourse. A picture emerged of Africville as a proudly independent township of some 400 people who had triumphed over adversity and carved out something for themselves, through resourceful use of the available materials, hard work and communal support. The video recording made was crude and partial but highlighted the importance of going to the place and walking through the site, allowing Irvine to recount memories and events in context.There are landmarks, traces, coordinates which are no longer visible, but they are part of a mental map of Africvillians. Effectively there are layers of meaning and reading of a landscape which depend on lived experience. Might this knowledge of the land be conveyed more vividly on foot – as the coordinates of the land hold captive the memories of the generations that lived there? So too, walkers have to lift their feet between steps. But the writer does not cease to write on lifting the pen, nor does the walker cease to walk on lifting each foot, alternately, from the ground. Nor, for that matter, does the singer or storyteller cease his recitation every time s/he pauses for breath.‘Stories walk’, writes John Berger,‘like animals and men. And their steps are not only between narrated events but between each sentence, sometimes each word. Every step is a stride over something not said’ (Berger 1982: 284–5, in Ingold and Vergunst 2008) How are sites like Africville remembered? As discussed, there are oral traditions by which collective ideas of place are nurtured and passed on; of course, they can become distorted and embellished over time.The visual archive (films, photographs and interactive maps) is a powerful record of the existence of the site and there are writings, drawings and artefacts which record the lived experiences of people raised there. In her visual ethnographic research into the Slow City movement in the UK (Cittàslow) Sarah Pink (2008) examines the importance of audio-visual media in the evolving development of place, arguing that people’s ‘routes and mobilities are both invested in, and produce, local visual cultures’. Furthermore, she suggests a visual ethnography of routes and mobilities ‘can inform academic knowledge of how local urban issues are articulated and contested’ (2008a: 1). This is particularly true when an area has such strong traumatic entanglements with people’s lives, memories and future expectations. The current research is only one of several other initiatives that tell the story of Africville: several documentaries; a multi-layered map produced by the Africville Genealogical Society which juxtaposes the history and heritage of the site with the current land use and topography; there was also an annual protest at the site; and several recent artworks give a sense of the past and present, keeping memories of the community alive.The site currently lists places in the village in an effort to reclaim memories: Africville was a place of special places. We have captured some of them here. Start in Round the Turn. Down to the west where the container pier is now. Travel east to Up the Road. Do you see it? Kildare’s Field, where we gathered for picnics?

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 135 Want to go for a swim? Get out the rafts and play in the summer sun at Tibby’s Pond? What about those Easter Sundays? The Church was the focus of the community. Know what that was about? Explore this section of the site to find out about some of the special places that made Africville a lively community. Through these experiences, you can remember too. And help keep Africville alive. http://afr icville.ca/places-of-afr icville/ In this case, the meaning of Africville is partly re-created through the sharing of the walk through the site with the research team and the telling of the stories there in the places they happened; the fact that these stories and landmarks have been part of a video recording ‘creates’ the place in several ways, as Pink suggests: ‘in a phenomenological sense during the research encounter; in the form of the video representation of that encounter; and again through the subjectivity of the viewer of that video’ (2008b: 2) The resulting video material relates several stories together in a complementary fashion, adding to the wide range of multisensorial representations of the place, as mentioned above. After years of protest, the Seaview Church was rebuilt on the same spot and now houses the Africville Museum. So far, this chapter has demonstrated how visual research, the use of video and still images, electronic satellite-generated imaging, maps and archive material, can be used to begin to construct a sense of place. It becomes clear that place is a complex, intersubjective construction negotiated with those who live in and understand the area, informed and textured by a vast array of popular cultural resources; numerous discourses which intersect in film, popular media, narrative histories and historical visual records of the area. Discussions of place in which residents (or past residents) actively collaborate to tell their story are obviously different from the early twentieth-century accounts in which ethnographers and anthropologists strove to collect the authentic remains of what were sometimes perceived as ‘doomed’ or threatened cultures. The social Darwinist approach to indigenous people in central Australia was touched upon briefly in Chapter 1. Historically indigenous groups were viewed as having lost the competitive struggle for survival and were portrayed as doomed specimens. Margaret Mead commented that:‘The recognition that forms of human behaviour still extant will inevitably disappear has been part of our whole scientific and humanistic heritage. There have never been enough workers to collect the remnants of these worlds’ (in Hockings 1995: 3). This endeavour came to be known as ‘salvage ethnography’ and arguably still continues in documentaries about fragile and marginal indigenous groups threatened by encroaching climate change or industry (especially burning and logging) which are irrevocably changing cultural practices.

Contested Spaces: 2. Halfeti – Only the Fish Shall Visit In contrast, another innovative piece of collaborative visual research may be seen in Brogan Bunt’s interactive video record of the life of a rural Turkish town– Halfeti. This virtual record is an interesting case in point as it challenges the notion of what ‘place’ means. Halfeti no longer exists (at least in its original coordinates or condition).This small

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Figure 3.20 Screen shots of Halfeti: (a) map of the town – Brogan Bunt’s interactive site, (b) townsfolk of Halfeti, ‘Only Fish Shall Visit’, 2001

township was flooded in 2001 as part of a big hydroelectric scheme along the Euphrates River. Bunt has produced an interactive documentary, a video map of the town before it was inundated. The CD-Rom includes a navigable record of the streets, buildings and businesses which once existed there, and conversations with the inhabitants. Bunt created his own software including cursors which allow right and left turns through sequences of still images of the town in different seasons, including ambient sound recordings and short video conversations with shop owners and other townspeople. Pictured below (Figure 3.20) are some of the people and a navigable map of the ancient town. The map may be explored and entered from different locations, giving the sensation of travelling along the streets at different times of the day and in different seasons and changing weather conditions. In a conversation about his work, Bunt said: Halfeti was both a specific documentary work and also a generic engine for putting together spatial-navigable projects. It was designed to be low tech and accessible – just a matter of choreographing sets of digital images, sound files and video. The technical system is way out of date now. These days it should be possible to develop a system that works effectively in a broadband web context. In mid-2000 the ancient town of Halfeti, lying on the banks of the Euphrates in south-eastern Turkey, was flooded by the waters of a large hydro-electrical project, the Birecik dam. Many thousands of people were forced to abandon their homes and farmlands to move to an uncertain future in a new housing estate on the rocky escarpment. This experimental, spatial-exploratory documentary is a record of the town just prior to the flooding. It enables the user to wander streets, enter shops and homes, and listen to the views of the people. (Opening passage to a short video about the project, Brogan Bunt, 2002) Most immediately, Only Fish illustrates the pleasures of narrative underdetermination and redundancy …

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 137 Only Fish reproduces the spatial process and the subjective mode of wandering: observing detail, being open to what appears, being curious about what’s up the hill, or around the corner. The narrative tension of the flood coexists with, but doesn’t override, this wandering, and the possible narratives and non-narratives that it contains. (Whitelaw 2002) As Whitelaw suggests, there is sensual narrative pleasure in building an impression of the ancient town, being able to wander the winding cobbled lanes. There is understatement but also rich details which linger in the memory: the soundscape through the seasons, the repetitive cough of the ferry man, children and farm animals, muezzin, the townsfolk, their expressions of stoicism, hurt and injustice facing the coming upheaval. This collaborative project, which has ‘salvaged’ the way of life of a small rural town on the Euphrates, questions the boundaries of real and imagined constructs of place. While residents were moved to a new Halfeti, the old submerged town has become something of a tourist attraction. The remnants of Old Halfeti, sunken into the river, have attracted visitors who marvel at the sight that could be compared to an underwater museum. The town’s history goes back to 855 BC when the Assyrian King Shalmaneser II first established the settlement. During the Roman era, a settlement under the name of Akamai thrived, later changing to Koyla. (Culture Trip 2021) So, a ‘new Halfeti’ was built for the people of the soon-to-be-flooded town. But Bunt’s interactive site is the only way that the place in its antediluvian form can ever be visited.

Figure 3.21 Submerged remnants of the town as a tourist site Source: Commons.

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Contested Spaces: 3. Wadjemup/Rottnest Island The superficial look of a place may not be the place at all. Important social and cultural meanings of land are often contested and, in some cases, disguised or hidden. An example is Rottnest Island, which is one of Western Australia’s favourite resorts. But behind the picture postcard idyll of blue water and sparkling white sands lies a dark history which was never mentioned in the brochures. The fact that so many Aboriginal men and boys were interned here by the 1880s is evidence that removal had become the favoured policy; incarceration on the island was seen by some as a humane alternative to mainland prisons. Historical records suggest that in the late nineteenth century a few executions were carried out there; but that many more died due to the harsh conditions is attested by records of a flu epidemic which led to over sixty deaths. Indeed, the main camp site, known as Tentland, was exposed as being the biggest site of black deaths in custody, with the remains of over 300 men and boys buried in unmarked graves. For almost a century there was only restricted access to the island as it served as a penal colony for Aboriginal people. During this time around 3,700 men and boys were locked up. In an ABC News story Aboriginal archivists made the following comments about the island: Conditions under the first superintendent, Henry Vincent, were particularly cruel. “A lot of men passed away because of the conditions they were housed in – dysentery, measles, influenza,” Mr Jacobs-Smith said. “There were severe beatings and five recorded hangings here; gallows were set up in the Quod and other prisoners forced to watch.” (ABC Radio Perth 2018) There were allegations that Vincent worked prisoners to death, and freely meted out extra-judicial floggings like an overseer on a Caribbean plantation. There could also be another reason why the first intake in 1838 were set to work as farmers and later builders. It is claimed that this was observed with interest around the colony to test ‘how malleable Aboriginal people might be as workers under white masters’ (Roscoe 2020: 84). Although this dark history of the resort island had already long been known, it remained another hidden history. Earlier in this chapter there is mention of the Colonial Frontier Massacres Project which revealed that the whole nation had been involved with systematic genocidal acts, which should be understood rather than banished from consciousness. And images, maps and films are amongst the best ways of changing blinkered and ethnocentric visions. A powerful case in point is the journalism, books and films of John Pilger. Since he began reporting in the 1970s, he has been a strong advocate, presenting an honest history of the treatment of Aboriginal people. In 2013, Utopia, an epic production incorporating comparisons from his thirty years of documenting the deep divisions between white and indigenous Australians,14 showed how little conditions had changed: This Australian Tale of Two Cities contrasts the material comfort of the majority with the First Australians who die from Dickensian diseases in their 40s and are imprisoned at a rate six times that of blacks in apartheid South Africa. The state of Western Australia, the richest in the nation, has the highest incarceration rate of juveniles in the world – most of them Indigenous. (Pilger.com)

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Figure 3.22 Aboriginal prisoners on Rottnest Island in 1893: archive image of Aboriginal prisoners held on Rottnest in the prison camp known as the Quod – until recently this grim building had been used as a luxury hotel. Source: Photo courtesy of the State Library of Western Australia.

Figure 3.23 Tourist pamphlet cover, 1925– 27: a 1927 holiday brochure promoting Rottnest Island. The island has long been a popular resort and well known for its unique marsupial – the quokka. Source: Photo courtesy of the State Library of Western Australia.

The 2013 film also incorporated a visit to Rottnest Island, exposing the cruel irony of the luxury accommodation complex run by Rottnest Lodge’s Karma Group, which was actually located in the prison building known as the Quod – familiar to many visitors as the twenty-six-room holiday accommodation. The Quod was built by the prisoners themselves in 1863, where men and boys were packed into tiny cells just 3 metres by 1.7 metres, housing up to seven prisoners, without beds, windows or toilet buckets. (In 2018 the resort was finally closed.)

Traumascapes: Towers on Fire Perhaps Maria Tumarkin’s concept of ‘traumascape’ (2004) is a possible way to capture the collective experience of sites such as Africville, Halfeti or Rottnest Island/Wadjemup. They are similar in that each place’s origins has been covered up and each demonstrates the vulnerability of the inhabitants to the schemes of government; either to sacrifice the small community in the interests of business and commerce; or in the case of Africville and the Australian cases there is the added legacy of historical exclusion and environmental racism as well as dispossession. Tumarkin argues that places exert a deep influence upon their human inhabitants. The landscape transformed by tragedy becomes a repository of collective feelings; the legacies of the trauma linger in the stones of the roads and houses. The examination of ‘place’ reveals it to be a significant player in the construction of social reality. Experiences of the same place can vary markedly; whether as a site of fond

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140 Visual Research and Social Realities memories and belonging or of lingering trauma. Indeed, as we have seen with Africville, place can become a contentious arena; where very different interpretations of what the space means and how it should be used collide. In the world we inhabit, traumascapes are everywhere. They are the physical sites of terror attacks, natural and industrial catastrophes, genocide, exile, ecological degradation, and communal loss of heart.Yet far from being mere backdrops to cataclysms, traumascapes are a distinctive category of place, transformed physically and psychically by suffering. They are part of a scar tissue that stretches across the world, from Hiroshima to Auschwitz, Dresden to Srebrenica, Sarajevo to New York, Bali, London, Jerusalem, and New Orleans. (Tumarkin 2004) The haunting photograph pinned to the railings in this image from Brooklyn (Figure 3.25) demonstrates that the fall of the Twin Towers and the elegiac sense of loss and damage years after the event clearly created a traumascape. The site is also associated with the so-called ‘9/11 disease’ as thousands of first responders and emergency workers have been diagnosed with cancer apparently due to the toxicity of the site. It is claimed that the lingering toxic effects will soon cause more deaths than the actual attack (USA Today 2018). The sense of absence was felt trenchantly for many and the winning design of the memorial area at the site reflects this: Michael Arad’s “Reflecting Absence”, opened to the public on September 11, 2011, the 10th anniversary of the attacks. The eight-acre park features two reflecting pools with waterfalls in the footprint of the Twin Towers encircled by bronze panels featuring the names of all 2,983 people who died on 9/11. The National September 11 Memorial and Museum opened in May 2014. (History.com Editors 2019)

Figure 3.24 Ground Zero site, 2007

Figure 3.25 New York skyline from Brooklyn with anonymous photograph of the Twin Towers tied to the railings (2010)

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 141 In a similar way, the grim and preventable fire which destroyed the Grenfell Tower in north Kensington, London with the death of seventy-two people also constitutes a traumascape, with lingering effects years later. The extraordinary poverty at the heart of affluence has been recognised as an unhealthy feature of several nations (see Wilkinson and Pickett 2010). The UK is the fifth largest economy but one of the most unequal. The Grenfell Tower fire, which occurred in the heart of the wealthiest borough in London, seemed momentarily to bring these facts to public consciousness.Yet the outrage and demonstrations are soon knitted into the anodyne fabric of daily events which are, in any case, immersed in a culture of inequality, stoicism and inertia. Plans to preserve the tower are being discussed. Many survivors and relatives of those who died want the building to be retained as a permanent monument for those lost, and the survivors resisted plans to demolish the building. Michael Gove, the Housing Secretary, said he would consider plans for retention of the building. Survivor Hisam Choucair who lost six family members in the disaster said: ‘We wanted the minister to visit us here where our catastrophe took place – not in an office – so he could feel our pain’ (The Observer, 23 October 2021). Again, those who experienced the trauma want others to understand the power of the tragic place, rather than from the arm’s length remove of an office. Perhaps traumascapes may seem an unwieldy category; uniting such radically different traumatic sites as Port Arthur or Lockerbie, Belsen or Bali – just because many (perhaps even most places) have traumatic histories – does this constitute a special category?

Figure 3.27 The Grenfell Tower fire (14 June 2017) Source: Natalie Oxford (Commons).

Figure 3.26 Poem found pinned to the wall nearby written by an elderly lady, Cicely, a local resident

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142 Visual Research and Social Realities However,Tumarkin makes an important point about the land not being merely the passive recipient of trauma but in fact an active mediating force in social events. The legacy of traumatic sites and their accumulated meanings for those people who live there keeps on radiating through the ground. Of course, the experience of these sites is very different and the lingering effects of the trauma may even be communicable to those who are unaware of the traumatic incident. Interestingly the reverse side of some of these traumatic landscapes is that they are imbued with hope and longing; the promise of renewal that change could bring is also a uniting feature encouraging collective protest around contested sites. The role played by visual records, the multimodal and multisensory understanding they bring to our coming to terms with the traumatic site, is central. It has been said that a numbing aspect of traumascapes is the strange prescient feeling of the absences experienced at these sites. Claude Lanzmann (who directed the 1985 documentary Shoah about the Nazi Holocaust) used the concept ‘non-sites of memory’. It is a concept which deals with the important fact that in many cases there is no attempt to commemorate the missing – rather like the mass grave which was beneath the prime camping area on Rottnest, which became known as Tentland (and only recently has been marked as a burial site), or how Africville’s trauma survived beneath the turf of Seaview Park. ‘Lanzmann was one of the first to undertake rigorous research on abandoned, uncommemorated or clandestine sites of violence …’ (Sendyka 2021: 1). The place we see may not be the place at all, the layers of history sometimes come to obscure the deeds that took place, but in these cases callous indifference and guilt motivated the disguising.

Country – Far from Nature Contradictions in the British countryside have recently become a prominent focus, both as the locus for a sort of arcadian nostalgia, and for sharpening political tensions around the rural economy in the wake of: the foot and mouth epidemic, the ban on fox hunting, Brexit and loss of subsidies for the rural economy, climate change, and the push to save biodiversity after decades of reducing it by intensive farming practices to one of the most endangered in Europe. Our centuries-long literary tradition has always been concerned with contrasting the modernity, urban poverty, pollution, liberality and corruption of city life with conceptions of the rural as a backward if not pagan idyll, an untainted arcadia. It is a deep-seated binary we have grown up with. As Raymond Williams so effectively showed: ‘the contrast of the country and city is one of the major forms in which we become conscious of a central part of our experience and of the crises of our society’ (1973: 289). Images created in the arts over 500 years provide symbols for conceptualising the social and economic changes associated with capitalist development in England. For Williams, the Golden Age of the rural ‘good life’ is ‘a myth functioning as a memory’. The city for Hardy and Dickens may have served as the ‘dark mirror’ of the countryside, but today the contradictions implicit in the countryside begin to mirror back to the urban consumer new forms of darkness. The experience of a ‘natural’ landscape may include various ‘modes of visual consumption’ (MacNaghten and Urry 1998: 119). These may include: ‘Romantic’, ‘Collective’, Spectatorial’, ‘Possessive’, ‘Natural History’, or ‘Anthropological’ modes. McNaghten and Urry give details about each of these, for example: ‘Possessive – Solitary or paired, Habitual encounters, scanning over the familiar landscape as if it could be owned’ (ibid.).

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 143 Or ‘Romantic – Solitary, Sustained immersion and sense of awe. Gaze involving the sense of the auratic landscape’ (ibid.). The romantic tradition tended toward an elitist view of countryside, seeing its untrammelled wilderness denigrated by masses of mere sightseers, gathering sights like so much reality TV. For Wordsworth deeper immersion was needed to really commune with nature; sightseers who wanted a swift packaging of beauty spots were only capable of superficial often commodified visual consumption. ‘Wordsworth argued that the Lake District demands a different eye, one which is not threatened or frightened by the relatively wild and untamed nature’ (MacNaghten and Urry 1998: 123). As Wordsworth put it when writing to the Morning Post to protest against the plans for a new railway line to Kendal and Windermere, the ‘humbler ranks of society’ would gain little by speed of access to the Lake District. The immediate perception is insufficient and there is a longer process of reflection and reciprocity needed: ‘The perception of what has acquired the name of picturesque and romantic scenery is so far from being intuitive, that it can be produced only by a slow and gradual process of culture’ (Wordsworth 1844: 334). This elitist poetic vision of a gradual unfolding of what the ‘nature’ of a place is like and how one relates to it, alone or in a group, is clearly a notion that Wordsworth sees only granted to the refined consciousness of those who are attuned to nature and able to interpret through poetry, photography or painting, to properly reflect on the aesthetic subtleties of this relationship, on the gap between perception and representation.‘Precisely because of the reciprocity between mind and nature, alongside the “romantic scenery” of the exterior world, there are also interior settings of mental or emotional space, often expressed as a retreat into a cavern’ (Burwick 2016). It is quite clear that Wordsworth’s ‘bright cavern of romance’ (ibid.) is a retreat into the world of imagination; this essential sloughing away of cultural artifice to reveal the heart of the landscape in all its innocence – is a myth. The countryside may reawaken other parts of the self that the city crowds out with the restless human drama of commerce and inequity. The countryside, superficially, is a sanctuary away from the turbulent politics of the urban. But more careful consideration reveals that beneath the immediate surfaces, the green rolling hills, the sublime and awesome crags and ridges, similar relationships of power, ownership, control and surveillance are inescapable aspects of British country life. Certainly, it is true that there are restraints on where we can wander. Many of the local tracks in the Peak District, for example, are only possible now because of a long ongoing struggle since 1860 (including mass trespassing by ramblers) and decades of reforms which made local areas like Stanage Edge (only relatively recently) open to public access (Peak District gov.uk 2021). Macnaghten and Urry (1998: 123) present a vision of the British countryside as an environment heavily under surveillance through ordinances and codes. Often there is no general right to roam and one is enjoined not merely to walk in particular directions but even to keep rigidly to the footpath – otherwise one may contribute to environmental damage. In relationship to this almost sacred nature there are strict ways of behaving in order to practice ‘quiet recreation’. However, the suggestion that areas of the countryside are a giant panopticon, almost a theme park with less distinct boundaries, is rather an exaggeration. Some restrictions are

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144 Visual Research and Social Realities necessary. For example, not trampling over fragile eco-systems where endangered birds are nesting or where there are scarce plants is unfortunately necessary given the degradation of habitats. Massive damage can be done by for example permitting dogs off leads, and restricting access to four-wheel-drive vehicles and dirt bikes15 to enjoy the landscape in their own noisy and abrasive ways, is merely common sense, not because nature is ‘sacred’ but because at this point in the twenty-first century, the few remaining pockets of ‘nature’, even in its heavily manicured and preserved state, are under siege. This is not to say that there aren’t restrictions with which one disagrees; for example, the right for a few wealthy landowners to restrict access due to the slaughter of thousands of birds during the grouse season.16 The initial sense of the countryside as ‘nature’ is illusory, an idealist construction; the land in the Peak District for example is clearly the result of hundreds and in some cases thousands of years of human settlement and industry, from the Bronze Age 4,000 years ago, through centuries of industrial change. The shape of the hills, crags, edges and the moorlands that surround them bear the signs of historic land management; rock carvings and ritual markers, stone circles, burial mounds, ancient forts, tracks and lines of pilgrimage. The current panorama has been created through clearance of timber, burning, quarrying, enclosure, hunting and, in particular today, driven grouse shooting. In places on the moorland in the Peak District the cutting and burning of strips of heather is on an industrial scale. In fact, it is estimated that one-fifth of the national park, and across Britain an area twice the size of greater London, is ‘managed’ in this way (Rewilding Britain 2021). These channels and shallow troughs (see Figure 3.28) were carved in the rocks to collect rain water for the grouse over 100 years ago (apparently unique to Stanage Edge). The patchwork ‘camouflage’ pattern of the hills (see Figure 3.29) is caused by constant burning off and preparing for the fresh growth that the birds like, fattening them up before the grouse season ensues in August. The whole area was once part of a private grouse moor – an estate prohibited to the average citizen until 1962, but off the trail the big shoots still go on. Ironically, given commitments to biodiversity and climate change, vast areas of the fragile landscape in national parks are still harnessed to the grouse shooting industry.

Figure 3.28 Grouse troughs, Stanage Edge, Peak District, England

Figure 3.29 Patch burning, Stanage Edge, Peak District, England

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 145 Yet, despite the environmental and economic tensions, the surveillance and degradation, these well-trammelled trails are as close as many of us will get to a sense of the natural world beyond the bounds of the urban sprawl. In addition to walking around and through these landscapes, photography can be a way of negotiating the terrain, of getting closer to an emergent sense of the country; its unique contours and the play of light and shade across its features. Photographs can be a prelude to understanding and forging a relationship with places visited regularly. In a more technical sense too, ‘repeat photography’ of the same area is commonly used to document changes in the landscape. As a means of understanding the character of an area, artists may use hundreds of images to better grasp the unique coordinates of a place. Geologists, conservationists and anthropologists also make use of this practice: What unites these disciplines across great ideological and cultural distances is their understanding of photography as a truthful witness to the passage of time. This position places great value on the mechanical observation of the camera and the objectivity of the photographer. (McManus 2011: 1) The denigration of mass tourism and sightseers and their supposedly superficial mode of consuming the countryside is rather comparable to the same scorn that ‘old school’ photographers, for whom photography is a profession, a craft, direct towards the ‘mudslide’ of digital images which individuals can take in their millions. The place, now consumed en masse, displayed on a thousand blog sites, Flickr accounts, Instagram and other social media platforms, might be seen to be everywhere and nowhere; over-exposed, irradiated in the light sensor coding of the digital device: losing its specificity, becoming virtual and dis-embedded. Yet, extraordinarily, to any individual, it can still be realised fresh each time; the auratic landscape (‘the aesthetic’ as autonomous and enigmatic) prevails. Working from photographs to drawings and paintings can give an immersive visual understanding of the landscape. There is a mirror-like reflection of the contours of the land. ‘The photograph both mirrors and creates a discourse with the world, and is never, despite its often passive way with things, a neutral representation’ (Clarke 1997: 27–8) In contrast with photography, drawing and painting are a more gradual poetic process. Of course, it can be realistic or even hyperreal, and it may stem from a desire to understand the actual, to realise how the contours and textures communicate to us their materiality. But drawing and painting, like poetry and jazz, involve the creative realisation of general motifs and tropes, employing visual, verbal and sonic metaphors, enabling collisions whereby the input from everyday places, people and situations and their sensory impact and emotional weight are assessed and meditated upon, not always consciously, and from this entanglement with the ingredients of our sensory lives something new is created. The ingredients form a sort of gestalt, merging and blurring, cross-hatching and running together to create abstractions with highs and lows of shade, colour, texture, resonance and ambiguity of meaning. One’s own personal engagement with landscape aside, it is important to remember that there are differences between individual experiences of the countryside. A white male with a camera walking alone is a common sight, but a single woman or person of colour will perceive the terrain with a very different eye, perhaps the ‘modes of consumption’ need to be added to.

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146 Visual Research and Social Realities (a)

(b)

Figure 3.30 Two panoramic depictions of the Peak District: (a) a scene based on a photograph on the upper Derwent trail to Alport Castles, (b) a montage of photographs and drawings for a short animated video, ‘Green Serpent Hills’17

Ingrid Pollard has developed a practice to challenge the dominant scopic regimes associated with the English landscape. She has documented her journeys into the English countryside, as an anxious and ominous place, through a lens of hidden histories associated with African and Caribbean heritage. She comments beneath a self-portrait in the Lake District: ‘It’s as if the Black experience is only lived in an urban environment … I wandered lonely as a Black face in a sea of white. A visit to the countryside is always accompanied by a feeling of unease, dread …’ (Pollard 1993). To challenge this default whiteness and masculine dominance of the rural landscape, there are organised groups walking together to reclaim the countryside. Groups like the Hundred Black Men Walking for Health group in Sheffield set up by Maxwell Ayamba and now called Walk4Health (as it includes women and children too). Interviewed for the Sheffield Star newspaper (Armstrong 2020), Maxwell said: ‘When I came from Ghana in 1996, I didn’t know anything about the countryside was a contested landscape in terms of identity and race. Back home in Ghana, nature is just part of our lives. Notions related to space in England are especially contested.’ This is a political act, as well as healthrelated. It has inspired a stage production called Black Men Walking: ‘We walk. Though we are written into the landscape you don’t see us. We walked England before the English’ (directed by Dawn Walton, Eclipse Theatre Company 2018). Similarly, women who have reason to fear walking alone in urban settings find this fear heightened in the wider less surveilled areas of countryside. These are powerful examples of differences in perception, creating a different spectatorial landscape; on the one hand the romantic aura that still cloaks the countryside, and on the other the evidence of embedded divisions and clashing ideologies about the meaning of the land and its purpose. During the last year and a half of the pandemic, with its different levels of lockdown, more and more people began to venture into the countryside. In the early months of the UK lockdown, draconian measures were taken to prevent people travelling outside of their immediate locale for longer hikes. Police in Derbyshire took the extraordinary measure of using drones to detect, and apprehend, walkers out on the moors.While in the urban centres police cars cruised incongruously through the parks and gardens looking for people sitting together and not suitably distanced, or having travelled further than the permitted radius. Before moving on to the next area of concern it seems important to at least mention an aspect of the visualisation of place which is the source of growing interest and which may mark a radical departure from the older, more rooted notion of place.This is the increasing experience of interaction with the internet, through avatars in multi-user domains and virtual spaces in computer games, social networking and other parallel realms of electronic hyperreality. Writing about the experience of virtual reality, Katherine Hayles

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 147 (2002) suggests that there is a shift from presence and absence to a foregrounding instead of pattern and randomness.The increasing absorption into online worlds and socialisation through screen time will inevitably bring long-term changes in perceptions of place. Is the internet actually the true non-place? Just the experience now of working, as Hayles reminds us, has created internalised relationships: ‘As I work with the text-as-flickeringimage, I instantiate within my body the habitual patterns of movement that make pattern and randomness more real, more relevant, and more powerful than presence and absence’ (2002: 26).The liminal spaces which the individual enters in virtual reality offer a paradox. ‘Questions about presence and absence do not yield much leverage in this situation, for the avatar both is and is not present, just as the user is and is not inside the screen’ (2002: 27). There is much more that needs to be discussed around virtual experiences of place; there is for the moment not sufficient space here, but maybe this is also a choice; my embeddedness in the material world giving away my generational bias. But in the last twenty years, examination of behaviour online has become a serious area of research. Virtual ethnography has received interest from visual sociologists and anthropologists (see Hine 2000; Murdoch and Pink 2005) wishing to explore the complex entanglement of electronic signals with material bodies and the creation of entire worlds of interaction opened up by Web 2 applications such as Second Life (see e.g. Boellstorff 2008). To an extent, the examples already discussed are themselves complex and ethereal. Africville exists as memories and dreams, an imagined community; Halfeti lives on, albeit in a strange, dislocated fashion in Bunt’s virtual cartography. Even Sheffield, very much a tangible city, exhibits complex multi-layered aspects which belie its concreteness. Similarly in the wake of Black Lives Matter, but often the object of protests for many decades, the statues and other permanent memorials embody hidden (or conveniently forgotten) traumatic histories. The trauma is usually about issues of prejudice and exploitation where identities are marginalised, stigmatised, and sometimes erased. From the well-trodden streets of what was once a ‘city of soot’ – now the greenest city in England’ – to the stigmatised yet proud legacy of Africville, still breathing beneath the bland surface of a park, and the minaret of Halfeti jutting surreally from the Euphrates, or One Mile Dam in which the water is a dreaming linking the inhabitants to other times and other places, the examples discussed in this chapter have demonstrated that ‘place’ is a complex, mercurial concept. Visual methods have an important role to communicate this restless weave of physical location, entanglement of boundaries and bridges, routes and roots, legacy of memories, oral histories and heartfelt beliefs, and the proliferation of representations. Chapter 4 examines the complex area of identity and how visual artefacts help express and shape our sense of self and belonging, as well as drawing boundaries between nations and creating otherness.

Critical Questions 1. Considering the discussion of Auge’s ‘non-places’ – list the places you traverse during a week which might be considered as ‘non-places’. Now assess these places (after reviewing the argument for the existence of such a concept). 2. Take a walk near where you live (country or city doesn’t matter) and record signs of the past and present (and perhaps planning for the future). What signs are there of the changing face of industry (or agriculture)? Do you see sights which might constitute what Benjamin called ‘dialectical images’? Are there

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148 Visual Research and Social Realities signs of the development of a ‘vernacular landscape’ in which the human and place characteristics have become entangled? 3. Are there places near your home which could be considered ‘traumascapes’? If so, visit and assess the atmosphere and attitudes people have towards the location. Are there positive aspects to the area too?

Activity – make a drawing of the place where you live (or if possible, ideally somewhere you used to live a few years previously) and without looking at any readily available maps of the terrain try and remember the contours and dimensions of the streets and landmarks. Locate events and occurrences in which you were involved. What is the effect of drawing from memory? Did this virtual sense of place reopen memories or impressions which may have been forgotten? It is interesting afterwards to superimpose your map onto an aerial image derived from Google Earth and assess how close the contours of the place depicted fit or where some areas were distorted due to selective memory.

Notes 1 See Glossary under ‘Rhizome’. 2 A concept originating in architecture: see John Brinckerhoff Jackson (1984) Discovering the Vernacular Landscape, New Haven and London:Yale University Press. 3 A thylacine is a now extinct marsupial wolf. 4 Dr Tim Crotty is a writer and researcher in Melbourne. 5 See Glossary entry under ‘Psychogeography’. 6 ‘Terra Nullius – meaning land belonging to no-one – was the legal concept used by the British government to justify the settlement of Australia … The concept of terra nullius, or land belonging to no-one, remained the legal principle on which British colonisation rested until 1992, when the High Court brought down its finding in the Mabo vs Queensland (No. 2) case. It ruled that the lands of the continent were not terra nullius at the time of settlement …’ (National Library of Australia (updated 2021), Challenging Terra Nullius. Online. www.nla.gov. au/digital-classroom/senior-secondary/cook-and-pacific/cook-legend-and-legacy/challeng ing-terra 7 This map of Australia’s indigenous languages was created by David Horton (based on language data gathered by Aboriginal Studies Press, AIATSIS and Auslig/Sinclair, Knight, Merz, 1996). The map can be seen to represent all of the language, tribal or nation groups of indigenous people of Australia. This is only one possible representation of a complex indigenous network, showing only the general location of larger groups of people which may include smaller enclaves of clan or dialect groupings. The boundaries are not intended to be exact. View the map at www.abc.net.au/indigenous/map/.39. https://livingknowledge.anu.edu.au/learningsites/aa_ map.htm 8 Daniel King is a mixed media artist based in Sydney. In his 2013 exhibition Look Closer, the ‘indigenous filmmaker and photographer encourages the viewer to reappraise the many assumptions we hold when we confront issues relating to people of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander descent’. https://danielcking.weebly.com/exhibitions.html

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 149 9 In 1993, historian Geoffrey Blainey used the term in a magazine called Quadrant, arguing that the telling of Australian history had moved from an unduly positive rendition (the ‘Three Cheers View’) to an unduly negative view (the ‘black armband’). John Howard used the term when he strongly rejected the ‘black armband view of history’ in a speech made in 1996, and refused to make an official apology to Indigenous people. 10 This is a reference to Cocker’s long paean to the pagan roots and subterranean passages running under the city of Sheffield – ‘Wickerman’, from the Pulp album We Love Life (22 October 2001) 11 The ‘Women of Steel’ is a statue by Martin Jennings, in Barker’s Pool, Sheffield, a tribute to the metal and camaraderie of female workers who stepped in to replace male workers during both world wars. 12 The gross caricatures some have criticised in these posters are nothing new. In previous campaigns the depiction of racial types has led to backlash from publics. See for example the Metropolitan Police’s Life Savers campaign highlighted in Spencer (2014: 279). This was a poster which was eventually withdrawn because it featured the eyes of a dark-skinned woman staring out from a black rectangle. It was easily mistaken for a Muslim woman wearing a niqab. 13 A well-known beauty spot near Halifax, in Nova Scotia, Canada. 14 Pilger’s exposure of the inherent racism and denial in Australian treatment of Aborigines has been a constant and includes: The Secret Country: The First Australians Fight Back (Central Independent Television), ITV, 21 May 1985; The Last Dream: Secrets (1988), with its focus on Black deaths in custody; then Welcome to Australia (1999), again picking up on the searing injustices faced by Aborigines in the year before the Sydney Olympic Games. 15 In some areas of the Peak District these have ripped through ancient cart tracks damaging the trail and the stones set in place hundreds of years earlier. 16 Arguments for the banning of grouse shooting as an elitist sport which has many negative impacts on upland areas in the UK (including the eradication of rare raptors, and other predators such as foxes, weasels and ravens, and the burning off of heather to produce abundant fresh growth on which grouse feed) are met with resistance by groups like the Countryside Alliance arguing that in fact they are conservationists protecting rare species and sensitively managing the fragile land. 17 Available on YouTube at https://youtu.be/dRMgGyRPn5s

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Mapping Society: A ‘Sense of Place’ 151 Harvey, D. (1985) The Urbanization of Capital: Studies in the History and Theory of Capitalist Urbanization, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hayles, N.K. (2002) ‘Virtual bodies and flickering signifiers’, in N. Mirzoeff (ed.) The Visual Culture Reader, 2nd edn, London: Routledge, pp. 152–160. Hine, C. (2000) Virtual Ethnography, London: Sage. Hockings, P. (ed.) (1995) Principles of Visual Anthropology, 3rd edn, Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Ingold, T. (1995) ‘Building, dwelling, living: how animals and people make themselves at home in the world’, in M. Strathern, Shifting Contexts: Transformations in Anthropological Knowledge, London: Routledge, pp. 57–80. Ingold,T. (2010) Bringing Things to Life: Creative Entanglements in a World of Materials. ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. Online. www.reallifemethods.ac.uk/events/vitalsigns/progra mme/documents/vital-signs-ingold-bring ing-things-to-life.pdf Ingold, T. (2013) Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture, London: Routledge. Ingold, T. and Vergunst, J. (2006) ‘Fieldwork on foot: perceiving, routing, socialising’, in S. Coleman and J. Collins (eds) Locating the Field: Space, Place and Context in Anthropology, Oxford: Berg. Ingold,T. and Vergunst, J. (eds) (2008) Ways of Walking: Ethnography and Practice on Foot, Anthropological Studies of Creativity and Perception, London: Ashgate. Karp, D.A., Stone, G.P. and Yodels, W.C. (1991) Being Urban: A Sociology of City Life, New York: Praeger. Kuhn, A. (2007) ‘Photography and cultural memory: a methodological exploration’, Visual Studies, 22(3). Lee, A. and Ingold, T. (2006) ‘Fieldwork on foot: perceiving, routing, socializing’, in S. Coleman (ed.) Locating the Field: Space, Place and Context in Anthropology, Oxford: Berg. Lefebvre, Henri (1974) The Production of Space, Oxford: Blackwell. Lemert, C. (2006) ‘Racism and Atlantic violence’, Keynote Address, Centre for Sociology, Anthropology and Politics, of the British Higher Education Academy, 27–28 June, London. Macnaghten, P. and Urry, J. (1998) Contested Natures, London: Sage. Massey, D. (2005) For Space, London: Sage. McCannell, D. (1999) The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class, Ewing, NJ: University of California Press. McManus, Karla (2011) ‘Objective landscapes: the mediated evidence of repeat photography’, Int ermédialités, 17: 105–118. Online. www.erudit.org/en/journals/im/2011-n17-im1817262/ 1005751ar/ Murdock, G. and Pink, S. (2005) ‘Ethnography bytes back: digitalising visual anthropology’, Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture & Policy, 116 (August): 10–23. Online. http://search. infor mit.com.au/documentSummary;dn=012416226662116;res=IELHSS, ISSN: 1329-878X (accessed 30 July 2010). Nisbet, R.A. (1967) The Sociological Tradition, London: Heinemann Educational Books. Obrador-Pons, Pau (1995) ‘Dwelling’, in I. Douglas, R. Huggett and C. Perkins (eds) Companion Encyclopaedia of Geography: From Local to Global, London: Routledge, pp. 957–968. Peak District gov.uk (2021) ‘A history of open access land’. Online. www.peakdistr ict.gov.uk/look ing-after/how-we-look-after-access/crow-timeline Pink, S. (2007) Doing Visual Ethnography, London: Sage. Pink, S. (2008) ‘Sense and sustainability: the case of the Slow City movement’, Local Environment, 13(2): 95–106. Pollard, Ingrid (1993) Pastoral Interlude – photographs – Victoria and Albert Museum Department of Prints, Drawings and Paintings Accession Register for 1993. https://collections.vam.ac.uk/ item/O107865/pastoral-interludeits-as-if-the-photograph-pollard-ing rid/ Prosser, J. (2008) ‘Introducing visual methods’, ESRC National Centre for Research Methods Review Paper, October. Relph, E. (1976) Place and Placelessness, London: Pion.

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152 Visual Research and Social Realities Rewilding Britain (2021) ‘Nature impoverished: intensively-managed grouse moors cover over three-quarters of a million acres of Britain’s national parks’, Press Release. Online. www.rewil dingbritain.org.uk/news-and-views/press-releases-and-media-statements/nature-impoveris hed-intensively-managed-grouse-moors Robin, Libby (2009) ‘Dead museum animals: natural order or cultural chaos?’, reCollections: Journal of the National Museum of Australia, 4(2) (October). Roscoe, Katherine (2020) ‘Work on Wadjemup: entanglements between Aboriginal prison labour and the imperial convict system in Western Australia’, Studies in Western Australian History, 34: 79–95. Sendyka, Roma (2021) ‘Sites of violence and their communities: critical memory studies in the post-human era’, Heritage, Memory and Conflict Journal (HMC), 1: 1–11. Sheffield City Council and Arcus (2007) Brightside Weir and Steelworks, Public Information Panel. Shields, R. (1996) ‘A guide to urban representation and what to do about it: alternative traditions of urban theory’, in A. King (ed.) Re-Presenting the City: Ethnicity, Capital and Culture in the 21st Century Metropolis, New York: New York University Press. Short, J.R. (2006) Urban Theory: A Critical Assessment, London: Palgrave. Spencer, S. (2005) ‘Contested homelands: Darwin’s “itinerant problem”’, Pacific Journalism Review, 11(1): 174–197. Spencer, S. (2012) ‘Looking for Africville: complementary visual constructions of a contended space’, in Ross Coomber and Gayle Letherby, Sociological Research Online, February. Special Visual Methods edition. www.socresonline.org.uk/17/1/6.html Spencer, S. with Cox, A. (2018) ‘Into the divide: community identities and the visualisation of place’, Visual Studies, 32(2): 97–110. Spencer, S. and Samuels, L. (2008) Video interview with Denise Allen, 2007, in Identities in Transition: Five African Canadian Women Discuss Identity, video published in EliSS Journal, CSAP, Online Publication, 1(2): 184–205. Star, The (Sheffield Newspaper) (2021) ‘Sheffield Council to work on tackling “racist, outdated and uncomfortable” messages across the city after wide-ranging review’, by Molly Williams, Local Democracy Reporter, 29 July. Online. www.thestar.co.uk/news/politics/sheffield-coun cil-to-work-on-tackling-racist-outdated-and-uncomfortable-messages-across-the-city-afterwide-rang ing-review-3328266 Susser, I. (2002) The Castells Reader on Cities and Social Theory, Oxford: Blackwell. Szekeley, M. (2006) ‘Rethinking Benjamin: the function of the utopian ideal’. Online. http://clo gic.eserver.org/2006/szekely.html. University of Newcastle Colonial Frontier Massacres Project team (2020) Map: ‘Colonial Frontier Massacres in Australia, 1788–1930’. https://c21ch.newcastle.edu.au/colonialmassacres/map. php (last visited January 2022). USA Today (2018) Nancy Cutler, ‘Deaths from 9/11 diseases will soon outnumber those lost on that fateful day’. Online. www.mountsinai.org/about/newsroom/2018/deaths-from-911-disea ses-will-soon-outnumber-those-lost-on-that-fateful-day Warikoo, Natasha (2019) ‘Weak multiculturalism and fears of cultural encroachment: meanings of multiculturalism among young elites in Britain’, Ethnicities, 20(1). Wheeldon, J. and Faubert, J. (2009) ‘Framing experience: concept maps, mind maps, and data collection in qualitative research’, International Journal of Qualitative Methods, 8(3). Whitelaw, Mitchell (2002) Playing Games with Reality: Only Fish Shall Visit and Interactive Documentary: Catalog essay for Halfeti: Only Fish Shall Visit, by Brogan Bunt. Exhibited at Artspace, Sydney, 19 September – 12 October 2002. Wilkinson, R. and Pickett, K. (2010) The Spirit Level: Why Equality Is Better for Everyone, London: Penguin. Williams, Molly (2021) ‘Sheffield Council to work on tackling “racist, outdated and uncomfortable” messages across the city after wide-ranging review’, Sheffield Telegraph, 30 July.

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4

Visualising Identity

Identity is commonly conceived of in western thought as a set of central, distinctive and enduring characteristics that typify a person or a group. But these distinctive features are not closed-ended. Identity can be seen as fluid, a never-ending process of becoming: Identity is a work in progress, a negotiated space between ourselves and others; constantly being re-appraised and very much linked to the circulation of cultural meanings in a society. Furthermore, identity is intensely political. There are constant efforts to escape, fix or perpetuate images and meanings of others. These transformations are apparent in every domain, and the relationships between these constructions reflect and reinforce power relations. (Taylor and Spencer 2004: 4) Identity has taken its place amongst the key concepts of social science, becoming central to discussions of culture and theorising change.There has been a transition, marked by the fragmentation of mass movements and an emphasis on difference, toward a society where ‘identity politics’ is seen as central. Recently, a resurgence of discussion about embedded systemic racism and the latest concerted effort to shake white liberal consensus, put iconic symbols of British history under closer and more collective scrutiny; the toppling of statues was a very visible part of a much bigger movement. In June 2020, Black Lives Matter demonstrators in Bristol hurled a statue of Edward Colston into the dock in Bristol. It was a feverish and controversial moment and national identity became a burning issue; political and media rhetoric full of impassioned proclamations from both ends of the political spectrum. This chapter is about how ‘identity’ – this ubiquitous concept in sociology and cultural studies – might be examined through the lens of visual research. Social identity is central to our sense of self, but how easily can these aspects of social being be visually examined and revealed? Because much ‘identity work’ occurs within representation, it is possible to capture some manifestations of identity in visual form.Visual representations of different groups in society contribute significantly to the manner in which identity is constructed. Boundaries are those markers of difference which delineate the contours of our sense of identity, between self and others, between ‘us’ and ‘them’. Some boundaries are drawn socially and controlled by the state, such as retirement age, citizenship, immigration status or the legal status of families (see Best 2005). In western societies these boundaries are DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-6

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Visualising Identity 155 undergoing rapid change. What divides us may not always be such Manichean divisions, but more subtle differences. Indeed, boundaries are constantly being drawn and re-drawn, demonstrating that people are not easily divided into bounded units, but, as Frederick Barth suggests, fundamentally ‘open and disordered’, composed of ‘overlapping social networks with crosscutting boundaries’ (in Kuper 1992: 7). These complex aspects of identity, belonging and difference, are expressed and acted upon at the individual level, but also mediated and regulated discursively through key social institutions and media.While boundaries can be hard-edged geographical or political lines drawn on a map to delineate territories and states, they are also part of an internal landscape: ‘Boundaries define the borders of nations and territories as well as the imaginations of minds and communities’ (Cottle 2000: 2). Visual culture can be a powerful dimension for affirming personal as well as collective identity. From the child’s first existential moment of ego awareness when looking in a mirror, to the mass identification which occurs in advertising, sport and other forms of popular culture, recognition of self and identification with others and with the values of society are frequently mediated through an array of visual signs. There are studies which focus particularly on sign systems deployed to demonstrate or encourage nationalist sentiments (Allmark 2007; Jenkins 2007; Madriaga, 2007), especially in relation to the concept of ‘banal nationalism’ (Billig 1995) where flags, statues or other representations are used to build an imagined sense of national solidarity and belonging. The researcher may choose to use visual means to record manifestations of social identities; apart from flags and nationalist symbolism, the constant struggle for symbolic dominance in sport and politics, trade and other international arenas creates strong, often visible and emotive rhetoric of national identity. The flag is a symbol of the nation and flying the flag, or for that matter lowering or desecrating it, can have enormous significance (many countries have serious penalties for public destruction of the nation’s flag). Diagram 4.1 recognises the centrality of identity as part of a complex matrix of

Diagram 4.1 Matrix of cultural identity, 2006 Source: Adapted from du Gay et al. 1997, circuit of culture.

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156 Visual Research and Social Realities social processes producing and circulating meanings. Stuart Hall argues that we should think of cultural identity as ‘a production which is never complete, always in process, and always constituted within, not outside, representation’ (1990: 222). The model suggests that the process of identity formation is continuous and links to the material cycle of production and consumption (including both tangible products and artefacts and intangible messages and values) and their representation through language, media and other cultural signs. In addition, the expression of identity is a regulatory process which can actively support hegemony. On 16 January 1991, on the eve of the first Gulf War, the Sun newspaper’s front page was in the form of a poster of a Union Jack flag with a soldier’s face in the centre, with text exhorting readers to SUPPORT OUR BOYS AND PUT THIS IN YOUR WINDOW. That morning, walking through London, I noticed several windows in houses and even one or two cars proudly displaying this picture. Some photographers capture the strangeness of these visions which are at the heart of alienated urban identities. See, for example Allmark’s work (Part II) which explores implicit contradictions (juxtaposing images of military hyper-masculinity with the consumption of luxury brands) in the heart of the city. When seemingly incompatible elements collide they create ‘the third effect’.1 These juxtapositions are, to be expected in a society which, as postmodern theory suggests, is an array of signifiers without depth (dislocated from their signifieds and from the deeper meanings of modernity); a pastiche. Equally relevant here is Sarah Atkinson’s discussion (Part II) which develops Foucault’s suggestion that we are living in ‘an epoch of simultaneity: we are in the epoch of juxtaposition, the epoch of near and far, of the side-by-side, of the dispersed’ (Foucault, [1976] 1999: 229). The practice of capturing this reality through the creative alignment of objects, images, narratives and contexts can be used to suggest the ironies and paradoxes of our place in this divided world. As suggested, the elements which make up identity (at least those that can be expressed and communicated) are shaped within representation, within the codes of the society in which we live. While it is evident that the visual manifestations of identity are useful as part of a broader set of methodologies, the analysis of visual signs, symbols and the outward trappings of identity is very revealing, exposing attempts to forge identity, to show one’s ‘true colours’, to position with or against others, show solidarity or resistance, praise or derision. Aspects of social identity are collectively maintained and regulated through cultural communication.There are competing discourses of national, ethnic and gendered identities, as well as cross-cutting forms of socio-economic identity which may conform to traditional or rapidly evolving class-based values which are often associated with consumer and lifestyle choices. Only a small part of this is directly displayed; for example, via popular iconography of nation, particularly in relation to flags and other insignia; much more is implied in everyday exchanges and increasingly during the ‘screen time’ that people spend. It is argued that the impact of digital media is much more than mere distraction and entertainment. From a very tender age many are brought up with screens and hence see little distinction to be made between aspects of offline time and screen time. ‘We are in the midst of a global transition in which digital “screens” are no longer simply entertainment devices and distractions; rather, adolescents are currently living in a hybrid reality that links digital spaces to offline contexts’ (Granic et al. 2020: i). Given the primacy of visual material on social media platforms, this evolving ‘hybrid reality’ is heavily influenced by imagery. This exploration of visual identities begins with a discussion of contentious expressions of nation, ‘race’ and ethnicity, age and gender, using recent events as a focus to show how

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Visualising Identity 157 changing ideas about identity are projected, and how cultural discourse disguises the truth of inequalities.

Nationality, Race and Ethnicity Social divisions can be subtle and transitory in nature. Sometimes evidence is apparent only when the historical processes are better understood; for example, when considering the long ripples of colonialism.The diaspora (for example) has political, social and cultural meanings. Individuals of ‘mixed race’, for example, in the Caribbean and Central and South America are ‘evidence’ of a history of European domination, and the internalised meaning of skin colour has developed ‘with often incalculably fine-grained pigmentocracies crucial to the operation of social hierarchies, in Brazil for example’ (Parker 2004: 109).Thus, societal perceptions of these boundaries can be visualised and reflect a colonial history based on colour-coded power relations which maintain hegemonic influence post-colonially in those nations, as well as among the diasporic communities in European and American cities. But much more overt patterns of embedded inequality are part of everyday life in European and American cities. On 25 May 2020 African American George Floyd was choked to death by police officer Derek Chauvin in Minneapolis, an act which became the catalyst for Black Lives Matter protests around the world. At once this very real image of deadly repression served as a powerful metaphor bringing the stifling nature of white exceptionalism and privilege into sharp focus. One focal point for protests in the US and UK included the silent trappings of embedded colonial dominance in the form of statues of slavers, confederate generals, and many others complicit in colonialist oppression. These became the targets of demonstrators. Some had long been highly contentious monuments; like Edward Colston, the slaver, in Bristol,Winston Churchill in Westminster, or Rhodes at Oxford. Others, which had been quietly corroding in their parochial seats, like the statue of Baden Powell in the Dorset town of Poole, also came under scrutiny for their apparently fascist sympathies. As discussed earlier, Billig’s concept of ‘banal nationalism’ is valuable, to cover the ideological habits which enable the established nations of the West to be reproduced. It is argued that these habits are not removed from everyday life, as some observers have supposed. Daily, the nation is indicated, or “flagged”, in the lives of its citizenry. Nationalism, far from being an intermittent mood in established nations, is the endemic condition. (1995: 6) This suggests that the meanings of nationalism become deeply embedded in social practices and are not merely the province of marginal extremists, but only dormant and ready to be mobilised in the wake of events which invoke such displays.The protester, Ray Egan, in Figure 4.1 adopted the traditional ‘John Bull’ character to personify Britishness in his one-man demonstrations in defence of the pound and other British icons. He became a familiar sight, protesting at sites of corporate takeovers (the BMW takeover of Rover or Kraft’s manoeuvring for Cadbury’s). But the clash of flags has never been more prevalent than in the run up to Brexit (Britain’s exit from the European Union). It was a stance which reflected the surge of nationalist anti-EU sentiments which characterised the divisive debate around Brexit.

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Figure 4.1 Ray Egan – a John Bull-style protest, 2000

Figure 4.2 Statue of Edward Colston – M-Shed Museum, Bristol

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Visualising Identity 159 Freedom of speech is the right to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, by any means. However, there are ironies involved when violent racist groups, or autocratic leaders seek to present themselves as staunch defenders of democratic rights. The outrage following the Charlie Hebdo murders in Paris, in 2015 (7 January), brought together many nations to publicly decry such deathly acts against freedom of speech and press freedoms. Another opportunity to unfurl flags and make a solemn show of democracy against such ‘barbarism’. The Charlie Hebdo massacre in the Paris offices of the satirical journal led to public displays of solidarity for the idea of freedom of speech. And world leaders and people from every political brand in many countries took up the ‘Je Suis Charlie’ vigil. However, some recognised this as an extraordinarily ironic event. Suraya Dadoo, a researcher with Media Review Network, angrily wrote: But to have some of the most vicious governmental enemies of press freedom, who are currently waging their own war against journalists and commentators, championing the cause of free speech is an insult, not just to the victims in Paris, but to all those denied basic media freedoms. Many of the leaders at the Paris march had no right to proclaim their solidarity with Charlie. Rather, their signs should have read: “Je suis Hypocrite”. In the picture below (Figure 4.3), members of a local branch of the far right EDL carried a flag on the steps of Sheffield City Hall.The problem with freedom of speech and a focus on multiculturalism is that it can be used as a rallying point for special pleading in terms of culture and identity of very marginal, including aggressively racist, views. Where in the past a broader coalition was possible under a ‘strategically essentialist’2 banner, now with the fragmentation into ‘identity politics’3 the hard right, EDL or Front National, even the Ku Klux Klan, can, and do, argue that their rights to representation have been denied due to political correctness and that they stand for free speech and have their own unique culture which must be respected.4

Figure 4.3 Members of the EDL hold a flag on the steps of Sheffield City Hall Source: Courtesy of Phil Roddis.

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160 Visual Research and Social Realities ‘Culture’ in the form of national symbols or historical architecture, as these images suggest, can be a disguise for quite oppressive policies; a fig leaf to strident power as Terry Eagleton has argued: If culture sweetens your authority and renders it tolerable, then it is an indispensable medium of political power. That power needs to bed itself down in everyday experience, cloak itself in the garments of common loyalties, if it is not to loom up as abstract and intimidating. (Eagleton 2016: 70) At the time of writing in 2021, the UK, emerging nervously from strictures of lockdown and the post-mortem reports of government mismanagement which resulted in one of the highest death tolls in western Europe, has been subject to a valedictory celebration of ‘anti-woke’ jingoism. In the news we heard that the purchase of union flags under Boris Johnson reached an all-time high and that mandates were passed to enforce the flying of flags over all government buildings. At the same time, Team GB’s medal tally at the Tokyo Olympic Games was constantly held up as a source of pride and a lesson to boost the economy and the nation’s spirits. In the usual round up of the papers on the BBC Radio 4 Today programme we heard the following: … and the Chancellor tells the Daily Express that the Olympians are inspiring businesses to help revive the economy. Rishi Sunak says he’s sure the spirit from the Games will live on.The Daily Telegraph reports that the Archbishop of York the most reverent Steven Cotterill has put his finger on the problem of Englishness, when he describes how the UK has evolved leaving large parts of England behind. Its editorial welcomes the Archbishop’s challenge to the idea; he says that the metropolitan elite has developed, that Englishness is controversial and should be suppressed. The paper concludes this is why, what it calls ‘the woke war on memory’ has to be resisted. The Guardian points out that the government spent £163,000 on union flags in the past two years.The paper suggests ministers have been using the flags to signal their patriotic credentials. Expenditure on union flags has apparently gone up in every department since Boris Johnson became Prime Minister … (The Independent, 7 August 2021) The theme of ‘woke war on memory’ has been a reaction against revelations about colonial history in the aftermath of Black Lives Matter demonstrations in 2020. Alongside the union flags cropping up whenever ministers are on TV or Zoom broadcasts, we have witnessed a rearguard campaign to ‘save’ British museums from tainting British history with displays which are less than celebratory in recounting colonialism; for example, Oliver Dowden (then Culture Secretary) insisted that museums should give a ‘balanced’ account of British history and culture, or lose public confidence and financial support. This immediately brought to mind Australian Prime Minister John Howard’s attitude in the 1990s to what he called the ‘black armband view of Australian history’. His attitude was to reject what he saw as unremittingly negative accounts of the country’s violent past, that ‘much of [pre-multicultural] Australian history had been a disgrace’, and which focused mainly on the treatment of minority groups (especially Aboriginal people). This he contrasted with the ‘Three Cheers’ view, according to which: ‘nearly everything that came after [the convict era] was believed to be pretty

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Visualising Identity 161 good’. Conservative historian Geoffrey Blainey argued that these were inaccurate adjustments and the truth lay somewhere in between: ‘The Black Armband view of history might well represent the swing of the pendulum from a position that had been too favourable, too self-congratulatory, to an opposite extreme that is even more unreal and decidedly jaundiced’ (McKenna 1997). The idea that Britain’s past as a slaving society can simply be recast to give a less jaundiced, ‘balanced’ view is equally dubious. Dowden’s ‘round table’ summit on heritage was being heralded in the Daily Telegraph as ‘taking a last stand against “woke zealotry”’ (Heffer 2021). A chance to turn the left-wing tide against ‘cancel culture’. Heffer claimed that the killing of George Floyd was the impetus for a ‘small minority of highly vocal activists in this country to impose their ahistorical view of Britain’s past on everyone else, and to act in a proscriptive and intolerant fashion towards any aspect of that past …’. The use of ‘ahistorical’ is interesting; surely it is the opposite; it is recognising that history connects with, and influences the present. There is a viewpoint which wishes to frame the past as a lost arcadian age, severed from the current situation of inequality; a cultural imaginary of a sacrosanct untarnished history of the national spirit. Here the significance of the visible evidence is important. The statue of seventeenth-century Bristol slave trader Edward Colston (erected in 1895) was retrieved from Bristol harbour after being toppled during a Black Lives Matter (BLM) protest in June 2020. It is now on display in the city’s M Shed Museum (Figure 4.2). The statue, minus one coat tail and cane, lost in the toppling, and with the addition of graffiti words in red and blue, ‘TWAT’ and ‘PRICK’, lies ponderously on wooden props. Nearby a collection of cardboard placards from the BLM protest as part of an exhibition entitled ‘What Next?’, devised to question what the fate of colonial statues like this one ought to be. Seeing the statue lying beneath you, scarred and covered in graffiti, any magisterial power it might have projected has drained away. Questions need to be asked about the thousands who lost their lives in the slave trade. Colston was responsible for the enslavement of 80,000, and of these some 10,000 perished, tortured, beaten, burnt, murdered. These are the invisible legacies of statues standing in the midst of our cities. Venting rage against the persistence of colonial attitudes is important, but inevitably the impatience to remove statues is contentious, and the understanding of the real histories of slavery and the complex mercantile connections in cities like Bristol has tentacles that penetrate much deeper than these stone or bronze reminders. Contesting the architecture of colonial oppression has been an issue in many countries for decades, if not centuries. In 1991 I took the picture of a battered Queen Victoria in Georgetown, Guyana (see Figure 2.2 in Chapter 2). Commissioned in 1887 to mark the Golden Jubilee, this statue was unveiled in 1894 outside the law courts in Georgetown. More than half a century later, in 1954, the statue was dynamited in an act of anti-colonial protest, and its head and left hand were blown off.The attack came in the wake of repressive measures taken by the Colonial Office when the People’s Progressive Party (PPP) of Guyana won elections in 1953. Guyana achieved independence in 1966 and became a ‘Co-operative Republic’ in 1970. To mark the formation of the republic, the statue of Victoria was removed to Georgetown’s botanical gardens. However, in 1990, the statue was restored and re-erected in front of the Supreme Court of Judicature in Georgetown. The history of the struggle for independence and equality in post-colonial nations is not just waged through united political action, but also in the struggle to free the mind and the eyes from the normalisation of embedded tradition; the dominant colonialist

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162 Visual Research and Social Realities paradigm is encultured and objectified in language, in cultural stories and in architecture and statuary. The anger and unrest these urban signs inspire recalls the depersonalisation of Frantz Fanon’s colonial subject (and the double-consciousness of W.E.B. Du Bois). Fanon expressed the sense of oppressive whiteness which was inescapable to the ‘colonial subject’, permeating every aspect of society, projecting symbolic violence at every turn. I came into the world imbued with the will to find a meaning in things, my spirit filled with the desire to attain to the source of the world, and then I found that I was an object in the midst of other objects. Sealed into that crushing objecthood. (Fanon 1967: 109) It is clear that this oppression is not only interpersonal, but in the bricks and masonry of the dominant culture. The cities we live in are constantly transmitting values, and as Short (1996: 390) claims, they communicate implicitly ‘who has power and how it is wielded’. That cities can be ‘read’ and that hidden meanings are embedded within architecture, including statues or other artefacts, indeed that they serve to mediate in social and material processes, has been noted by several urban theorists (Shaw 2007; Jacobs 1993). Fanon points out how the colonial (or post-colonial) subject is trapped by the accumulated history of colonial dominance, in a world of statues: the statue of the general who carried out the conquest, the statue of the engineer who built the bridge; a world which is sure of itself, which crushes with its stones the backs flayed by whips: this is the colonial world. (Fanon 1963: 51–2) The BLM protests provoked an outraged nationalistic backlash; with claims that the details of slavery and exploitation of empire should be ‘balanced’ by remembering admirable aspects of British culture and society. It’s a peculiar argument seeking to suggest there can be a silver lining to massive systemic exploitation.There have also been calls, for example by the National Trust, to resist attempts to politicise historical research (Murray 2021). The fact that a building like Penrhyn Castle was built on the proceeds of Jamaican slavery does change the way we see it. History cannot be glossed over by focus on architectural splendour; the lavish lives of the elite are not something to excuse the source of their wealth. The Tories (especially the ‘Common Sense Group’ of MPs) appear to want to see history and heritage as something to be proud of and removed from the persistent inequalities that are the legacy of colonialism. As Professor Kim Wagner rightly said, you cannot have slavery on the one side and railways on the other. That’s not a genuinely critical historical inquiry. History’s not balanced, you know, what’s the balance between a holocaust survivor and a holocaust denier? What we need is an honest reckoning with the complexities and nuances of the past. (Radio 4 Today, 2021) The attempt to reinvent British history away from the stain of slavery and colonialist exploitation has been much in evidence with the upsurge of desire to reposition Britain on the world stage. As Giblin et al. state:

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Visualising Identity 163 a postcolonial nostalgia for when Britain ruled the waves has shadowed Brexit debates since the 2016 referendum, with government officials speaking of an ‘Empire 2.0’ consisting of new trade deals with Commonwealth countries. On the other hand, politicians including Jeremy Corbyn and Emmanuel Macron have made attempts to engage with imperial histories, with Corbyn insisting on the inclusion of the ‘role and legacy of the British Empire, colonisation and slavery’ in the school curriculum and Macron commissioning the Restitution of African Cultural Heritage report. Thus, we inhabit a paradox in which there is a popular resurgence of colonial fantasy alongside the desire to confront it. (2019: 5) Using visual approaches to examine how social identities and divisions are represented allows the researcher to build the context by which social disadvantage and discrimination lead to unequal life chances. Available to the researcher are dominant forms of representation of difference the popular currency through which social identity is articulated.Visual methods allow the critical appraisal of not only social contexts like cities, institutions and public spaces, but also human subjectivities.The next section will examine social divisions of age and gender and how visual rhetoric is used to stir up public indignation in moral panics around youth-culture and immigration.

Visual Representations of Age Identity Often key social divisions – class, age, gender, sexuality or ethnicity – become so central and familiar that they appear ‘natural’ markers of the habitual culture of our lives. A good example is age and the embedded conventional values with which particular age groups are associated. Age is a biological fact but also a social category. Hence often arbitrary divisions can appear ‘natural’.Yet the way age stages are culturally marked across the continuum of the biological life cycle vary significantly between cultures and have changed markedly over time. Childhood, youth, old age, and boundaries between them are drawn, often with stereotyped images. The meaning and emphasis attributed to ‘childhood’, for example, depends on cultural, social and economic aspects of the life course. When life expectancy was relatively short, childhood was seen very differently, and the transition to adulthood was necessarily swift. Aries (1962) suggested that childhood only came into being recently; a social construct since the eighteenth century. Similarly, the ‘teenager’ arguably only came into existence in western culture after the Second World War. The attitudes and values ascribed to teenagers, and the ways in which they are represented, have changed depending on the broader processes of social change. It is frequently a problematic life stage; a time between states of being: what anthropologist Edmund Leach called an ‘anomalous’ zone.The problems of being between stages, the disparity between societal legitimacy, ages of consent, voting age, etc., and physical and mental maturity, are a matter of popular knowledge. My grandmother’s Empire Diary (1938) (Figure 4.4) was apparently used to gather recipes, tips for household economies, newspaper cuttings and pressed flowers. This cutting was found in its pages and presented an ironic contrast. On the one hand the dour ‘lest we forget’ deceased figures, exemplars of wartime patriotism and masculinity: the late King and Earls Haig and Jellicoe; and opposite, in an advert for body building techniques, a very different, American teenage image of masculinity in a cutting probably from the late 1950s. This accidental juxtaposition of images and artefacts demonstrates how

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Figure 4.4 Construction of the teenager

documents give an impression of the changing values of wider society. Researchers may use archive material to demonstrate the prevalent value system. One document might yield rich examples of the pivotal issues of the time. For instance, Figures 4.5a and 4.5b show illustrations from a 1950s pamphlet The Gap (1959, South Australia) about juvenile delinquency. This document is revealing of the moral values of the time; fears of the inbetween stage, ‘the dangerous years’, and influences which might corrupt moral values. Familiar anxieties around ‘sex and drugs and rock and roll’ are presented as a contagion among the middle classes.The booklet contains a series of ‘moral’ tales from key figures of authority in the community: the South Australian Police Commissioner, a police sergeant who set up the ‘Anti-Larrikin Squad’, the mother and one of the disgraced teenage girls, others from religious and business leaders. Such documents are part of the public sphere where changes in society are often met with resistance, generate debates, mobilise traditional authorities and highlight norms, values, beliefs which are felt to be threatened. In addition, these images and narratives may be used as a testing ground for the creation of legislation. In short, they fulfil the criteria for the concept of a ‘moral panic’. This type of document illustrates some of the processes proposed by Stanley Cohen (1972) by which moral panics are said to unfold: • • •

someone or something is defined as a threat to values or interests; this threat is depicted in an easily recognisable form by the media; there is a rapid build-up of public concern;

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Figure 4.5a Cover of pamphlet, ‘The Gap’: A Book to Bridge the Dangerous Years (Wordley and Blake 1959)

•

Figure 4.5b Scenes from a ‘moral panic’, ‘The Gap’

there is a response from authorities or opinion makers.

In the example given in Figure 4.5b the fear is one of a descent into moral turpitude. In the ‘Doors to Delinquency’, Sgt Gollan outlines the viral spread of the bodgie and widgie cult and its effects on the culture of Adelaide (City of Churches): ‘In Sydney and Melbourne the cult had been responsible for outbreaks of violence with gangs beating up people but in Adelaide its early form of attack was sexual – our sexual record became very bad.’ One of the features of a moral panic is that it mobilises the forces of authority, police chiefs, judges and other lawmakers, priests (especially in this setting of Adelaide, ‘The City of Churches’), sportsmen and women, and mothers (who have special moral authority in this instance). What other group highlights so vividly the sense of moral outrage as the icon of 1950s motherhood (Figure 4.5b, below right)? For example, there is the myth of fallen innocence of girlhood evoked in the ‘Story of a Girl’: ‘The Past Doesn’t Just Die’ (Figure 4.5b, above right). Other commentaries examine the erosion of traditional values through the advent of rock and roll: When Elvis grinds out ‘Hound Dog’ or confesses he’s ‘Gonna sit right down and Cry’ it is, no doubt, partly because he feels miserable, but it’s as plain as a Presley purple pikestaff that he hasn’t got anything better to do. And neither have the boys and girls who swoon exhausted around the gramophone, consistently listening to him in a smoke-smothered haze. If only they had been taught to play their own banjo … Nervously drained after playing ‘Chicken’, juvenile delinquents could not know the satisfying, healthy exhaustion of a Saturday afternoon’s tussle of football, hockey or life-saving. (Blake 1959:17) The images used reflect the trends in crime melodrama and pulp fiction of the 1950s which often featured lurid tales of vice and juvenile delinquency. The cover illustration

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166 Visual Research and Social Realities (Figure 4.5a) is a graphic representation of the fears and revulsion of an ‘anomalous’ category – the teenager. It indicates a desire to retain the illusion of an innocent world where clear-cut categories exist. It is reminiscent of the American small-town genre; picket fences, brightly scrubbed, and civic-minded youngsters fishing or delivering newspapers. A world before the fall, where ‘children’ must remain within the protective cotton wool of Disneyesque innocence, and the ‘teenager’ is still a disturbing anomaly. This is the world of small-town America so effectively parodied by film director David Lynch in his 1986 film Blue Velvet. ‘It’s like saying that once you’ve discovered there are heroin addicts in the world and they’re murdering people to get money, can you be happy? It’s a tricky question. Real ignorance is bliss. That’s what Blue Velvet is about’ (David Lynch, in Coughlin 2003). While these expressions emanate from a sign system with roots in a different era, a different construction of youth, in which teenage identities were not understood and appeared threatening, the phenomenon of disturbing changes is constant in most cultures. Perennial fears about youth subcultures and the movement of migrant groups have existed for a very long time, as has the misinformation about contagious diseases like AIDS and more recently COVID-19, with large numbers of people believing conspiracy theories about COVID-19 and the vaccination programme. Such moral panics are often driven by visual elements which are especially prevalent with the immediacy of social media. The visual aspect of these ‘moral tales’ is a central, component. Visual research plays a role in showing how media and other sources are mobilised and legitimate certain readings of culture. The richness of such documents demonstrates that ethnographic study can include the representations of popular culture: Kelly (recorded in Coover 2009) affirms this: ‘some of us are now involved in doing ethnography through popular entertainment: employing popular entertainment as a way of showcasing a culture, providing knowledge about a culture, gaining access to that culture by being drawn into a narrative style’ (2009: 237). As discussed earlier (Chapter 2), examinations of media, fictional narratives and propaganda (of which The Gap pamphlet could be considered an example) are viable forms of ethnography. Such material links our analyses of cultural identities to the meanings circulating at a given time and allows patterns of continuity to be recognised in the form of these narratives. The visual component of these samples plays a significant role, characterising the style and context of the times; for example, what counted as a moral panic or the tabloid expression of outrage at the time. Some of these images are direct records of people and places and, in some instances, they are also examples of institutional documents which incite a proliferation of discourse. Moral panics are more than mere sensationalism to sell newspapers; in some cases, they appear to serve as a touchstone for public awareness about changes in the society, highlighting the fracture points between the old and new aspects of culture and the shifting ability of the social order to contain and control social meaning. Dorothy Smith recognised the importance of texts like this in her development of institutional ethnography, using them to ‘hook you up beyond the local; they are not contained within the local setting. And the more I began to explore that the more I began to see how important that was in the whole development of what I have come to conceptualise as the “the living relations” ’ (Widerberg 2004). What Smith is suggesting here is that some texts play a constitutive role in linking individual identity to broader societal discourses mediated through institutional forms. Dorothy Smith’s approach stands as a critique of sociology’s claim to be able to see the social world from a high vantage point without ever having to humble itself by asking the people how things

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Visualising Identity 167 look at ground level: ‘It is as if the society could be understood in its totality and from above, from the gaze of God, or rather, from the view of a bird but without the bird’ (Widerberg 2007: 21). This suggests that a ground-level empirical approach is important and that a form of ethnography is needed that will listen rather than be drawn to grand spectacles and theorising which disguises rather than reveals the lived experiences of people: ‘Institutional ethnography recognises the authority of the experiencer to inform the ethnographer’s ignorance’ (Smith 2005: 138). ‘Institutional ethnography’ (IE) is an approach to empirical enquiry combining theory and method, making connections amongst the sites and situations of everyday life, professional practice and policy-making. Smith coined the phrase ‘textually-mediated social organization’ to discuss this interconnection between texts and institutional practices and policies, and the shaping of identity and behaviour through these. Drawing on the Foucauldian concept of discourse, as the ‘controlling, positioning and productive capacities of signifying practices’ (Threadgold 1997: 58) whereby: ‘Individuals come to speak as particular kinds of subjects – to speak themselves into being – through speaking the discourses that enable the particular institution’ (Lee and Poynton 2000: 5). In this way discourses can be seen as structured sets of meanings which construct aspects of an individual’s identity.Vivien Burr suggests our identities are fabricated from the available discourses in a culture through ‘a subtle interweaving of many different “threads” ’ (Burr 1999: 51–2). There are discursive structures which shape our experience of age, gender, education, sexuality, work, etc. The range of discourses for some of these identities is much broader and more complex than others. Burr sites sexual identity as being the result of a ‘restricted menu’ (1999: 35) offered by society. To deviate from these dominant discourses was in the past seen as a threat to the values of society. The teenager, as discussed in the context of 1950s Australia, can be seen as similarly woven from a range of complex discourses: trends in music, cinema, subcultural trends which reflected a new state of independence (partly fuelled by growing postwar youth consumerism), contributed to the repertoire of styles, attitudes to authority, differences in dress and recreational use of drugs, alcohol, music and dance trends. Subcultural groups use the distinctive trappings of style to symbolise their divergence from dominant culture. The following section explores some examples of symbolism as expression of collective identities. By collecting visual archive materials, the dialectic changes in a society can be revealed. The pivotal moments in which competing visions of gender, sexuality, race/ethnicity and age struggle to colonise public consciousness and attitudes. Images, objects, bodily bearing, outward appearances, clothes, interior design, can all be read as ‘texts’ through which discourse is manifest. There is no reason why Smith’s IE can’t be effectively intertwined with visual methods (a prospect presented for discussion by Tartari 2020) given that the institutional ‘texts’ are increasingly visual and often deliberately choreographed to bring about change, using slogans attached to potent imagery to foreground a particular message, which can be shown to change attitudes or behaviours. A case in point is the manner in which the Vote Leave Brexit campaigners exploited public fears: Polling data reveal a particularly interesting fact about that world: Those who voted Leave had the least exposure to migrants, while those with the most exposure to them were most likely to vote Remain. It was fear of immigration, not immigration itself, which led the Leave camp to victory — not the reality of migrants, but the idea of them.

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Figure 4.6 Nigel Farage launches the UKIP ‘Breaking Point’ poster, 2016 Source: Mark Thomas/Alamy Stock Photo.

The infamous UKIP poster in Figure 4.6 played to the fears of Britain besieged by ‘swarms’ of migrants. As Sykes (2018: 5) points out, a geographic imaginary developed around spatial representations of ‘external threat’: In this the ‘Sceptred Isle’ was now under siege. This imaginary was supported by a lexicon of geographical mobility and flux with references to ‘open borders’,‘migrants’, ‘influxes’, ‘flows’ and ‘swarms’ (Elgot 2016), constructing a spatial imaginary of the openness of the UK to ‘others’ from ‘other places’, and notably ‘openness to’ (in an echo of Said’s 1978 pioneering work on imaginaries and western stances towards the ‘Orient’) ‘to the East’. This imagery was accompanied by repeated alarmist claims suggesting that Turkey’s admission to the EU was imminent (along with several other more eastern countries). Perhaps the sobering thought here is that while all of these claims could easily be disproven, and were obviously false (e.g. Britain takes considerably fewer migrants than many other European countries), ‘truth’ is considered irrelevant in the face of this imagined invasion. The photograph that was used for this poster was originally taken by Jeff Mitchell in Slovenia of migrants as they walked towards the Croatian border in October 2015 (see Beaumont-Thomas 2016). The use of images like this is not without precedent, and the form of the image when used for these purposes by a political party with vested interests in the outcome of a referendum, in terms of power and finance this entails, is similar to antisemitic Nazi

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Visualising Identity 169 propaganda from the Second World War showing Soviet Jews fleeing persecution; a point that a number of people, including ex-Tory Chancellor George Osborne, had raised concerns about. But, there is a more general discourse which is commonly re-invoked, of being overwhelmed by migrants. Right-wing tabloids employ a constant barrage of anti-immigrant commentaries. The UNCHR conducted a review of European press during the 2014 ‘migrant crisis’ where the focus was wave after wave of more than 20,000 migrants fleeing for safety across the Mediterranean, leading to thousands of deaths. The report concluded that the UK was an outlier in the study, showing a hostility towards refugees and migrants which was unique. Whilst newspapers in all countries featured anti-refugee and anti-migrant perspectives, what distinguished the right of centre press in the UK was the degree to which that section of the press campaigned aggressively against refugees and migrants. (Berry et al. 2015: 10) The coverage typically used terms like ‘illegal’ and the rhetoric of infestations, ‘swarm’ and ‘swarming’, in aggressive editorials highlighting threat themes and the burden of refugees on the British welfare state. It is quite apparent that in every era fears about immigration can be utilised as a resource by politicians and media, a powerful engine for striking postures of patriotism and re-invented national solidarity.

Collective Symbols of Identity Collective symbols become embedded through the process of ‘habituation’ as discussed by Berger and Luckmann (1966: 51–5): All human activity is subject to habitualization. Any action that is repeated frequently becomes cast into a pattern, which can then be reproduced with an economy of effort and which, ipso facto, is apprehended by its performer as that pattern. Habitualization further implies that the action in question may be performed again in the future in the same manner and with the same economical effort. In Part II, Roger Canals discusses one such example in the form of the ‘nomadic image’ of María Lionza in Venezuela. The sign may derive from narrative folklore, charismatic character, animal, uniform, flag or colours, which gradually through convention come to represent something to groups, whether they are national, ethnic, religious, political or sporting. Collective images of regional or national identity often draw on popular cultural figures. These shorthand symbols may come to represent deeply-held values of a culture. National colours, flags and emblems, or in charismatic individuals who are seen to embody something inviolable about the nation – the gathering and presentation of these symbols begin to reveal the complex interwoven fields from which cultural identities are composed and through which individual local identities are negotiated. Berger and Luckmann (1966) see everyday life as a social construction. Hall (1997) and others emphasised the circulation of social meanings, and current studies in phenomenology of the city and nation have used photographs of urban landscapes to examine the collective symbols of the city (several examples are mentioned in Chapter 3, but also Allmark 2002; and Spencer 2009). A study in images, whether they are photographs, films,

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170 Visual Research and Social Realities maps of social spaces, buildings, or other features of everyday social context, is increasingly recognised as a phenomenological study. However, the social context and motive behind the production and consumption of these cultural forms are very important, and one must be careful to steer between a naïvely realist view of images as reaching into an untainted vision of social reality, or conversely become overly dismissive of visual representations as highly contrived, as ‘almost purely arbitrary constructions’ (Pauwels 2010: 572). Symbols, however, are at the arbitrary end of the semiotic continuum, often sharing little with the entity they denote and dependent on cultural knowledge of the associations and connotations to which they refer. Hence subcultural symbols can seem arcane; a secret language into which acolytes are inducted. As Anthony Cohen (1985: 18) points out: Symbols are often defined as things ‘standing for’ other things. But they do not represent these ‘other things’ unambiguously … if they did so they would be superfluous and redundant. Rather, they ‘express’ other things in ways which allow their common form to be retained and shared among members of a group, whilst not imposing upon these people the constraints of uniform meaning. Furthermore, symbols are not often visual: ‘Most symbols do not have visual or physical expression but are, rather, ideas. This may make their meanings even more elusive’ (ibid.).This elusiveness is evident in the example of the Mexican Charro figure discussed below; a sign which goes to the heart of the struggle for Mexican culture and the Mexican revolution, but at the same time one which demonstrates fluidity; an ability to meander between meanings and is appropriated variously for different social and political identities.

El Charro – Mexican Iconography El Charro is a complex symbolic expression of Mexican identity typically denoted by a cowboy with a bandolier and a large hat. This is a figure associated with the land, peasantry and resistance, long argued to represent Mexican culture and identity (see e.g. Nájera-Ramírez 1994). The image reached a powerful realisation in General Emiliano Zapata, a Mestizo of Nahua Indian and Spanish ancestry. Zapata was a respected horseman who dressed in the flamboyant clothes of the Mexican Charro. Zapata fought for the rights of the landless peasants in the state of Morelos, first establishing via ancient title deeds their claims to disputed land, and finally taking up arms when progress was too slow. He was a key figure in the Mexican revolution, along with Pancho Villa, who led the army of liberation in the north, while Zapata became commander of the Ejército Libertador del Sur (Liberation Army of the South). Figure 4.7 shows five depictions of the Zapata figure. First (top right), from Mexico City’s underground train station, ‘Zapata’ bearing this stylised representation of General Emilliano Zapata. Second (top left), during the emergence of an astonishing rural indigenous uprising in Chiapas, Zapata became an emblem for the Zapatistas (pictured here on a banner in San Cristobal de las Casas in 1991). Possibly Zapata’s Mayan origins and his struggle for landownership for peasant farmers made him an attractive figure for the Zapatista movement. In the bottom row are two portraits of Zapata obtained in Mexico City. One (bottom left) was sold as a keepsake and features the classic Zapata image stuck onto a piece of card. Bottom right, Zapata leads the massed hats of rural peasantry under the banner ‘Tierra y Libertad’ (land and freedom), shoulder to shoulder with industrial workers, in a detail from Diego Rivera’s

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Figure 4.7 El Charro: Zapata figures: a collective symbol of Mexican identity

mural on the walls of the National Palace (Palacio Nacional) in Mexico City. The poster (bottom centre) is based on an image by Garcia Bustos and depicts the figure of Zapata representing the Popular Socialist Party, obtained during a demonstration in Mexico City (1991). The symbol of Zapata is adopted across the political spectrum as a powerful national symbol. The El Charro image and name have been appropriated commercially for advertising tequila, boots, bags, restaurants and cars. These are examples of ‘ritual condensation’: a process whereby abstract ideas are transmitted into material objects and often imbued with special significance. Jenkins makes the point that images or ideas can become potent symbols of community. Symbols like the charro or the hat itself as a synecdoche (a part that stands for the whole) allow a degree of openness and accommodation to quite varied users – although, arguably, core concepts of the rebel and the land are behind the power of such symbols to mobilise feelings around foundation myths of the Mexican nation and its independent spirit. Whether we are talking about symbols of community or community as a symbol, the power of the notions and the images thus mobilised depends on the capacity of symbols to encompass and condense a range of, not necessarily harmonious or congruent meanings. By definition symbols are abstract to a degree, imprecise to a degree, always multifaceted,

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Figure 4.8 Tina Modotti’s photograph – ‘Campesinos reading El Machete’, Mexico, 1929

and frequently implicit or taken-for-granted in their definition. As a consequence, people can to some degree bestow their own meanings on and in symbols; they can say and do the ‘same’ things without saying or doing the same things at all (Jenkins 2004: 112). The slogan in the above poster exhorts ‘Defend the victories (achievements or rights) for which we gave our lives’. The broad-brimmed hat remains a potent symbol for the worker and the revolutionary peasantry. Tina Modotti’s stark image (Figure 4.8), ‘Campesinos reading El Machete’ (1929), was published by the Communist Party in Mexico; it makes powerful use of the hats, capturing the dialectic of dissent and social change. Jonathan Jones (2003) discusses the elements in this photograph as part of a radical iconography. The headline in El Machete (the paper of the Mexican Communist Party) reads ‘Toda La Tierra, no Pedazos de Tierra!’ – All the land, not pieces of the land! A revolutionary battle cry again associated with Zapata. Jones points out that the hammer and sickle symbol on the masthead of the paper is almost dead centre; this carefully composed and cropped image captures the fever and ferment of collective action: We do not need to see their faces. They are not individuals; they are the proletariat. The future does not belong to the bourgeois self. The future is collective. Their hats form an abstract composition of circles within circles, intensified by the hot monochrome sun, wheeling in darkness, like bright stellar phenomena. The light sublimely picks out the wrinkled, landscape-ridged surface of the newspaper. Almost at the very centre of the composition is the hammer and sickle, a black icon. The hats are agrarian, and evoke the romantic guerrilla heroes of the Mexican revolution that began in 1910. (Jonathan Jones, in The Guardian, 15 February 2003)

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Visualising Identity 173 In another analysis, Steven (2016) also recognises the multi-layered dynamic in this image, suggesting that the words in the paper have a special resonance in the photograph, that indeed this is radicalisation in action: This Zapatista slogan thus acquires self-reflexivity within the photograph where, as Deborah Caplow5 interprets it, we are bearing witness to “the process of disseminating information and propaganda to rural workers, whose interests are articulated by the headline of the newspaper in the photograph.” Hence the nomadic and fluid meanings of the Zapata or ‘charro’ figures, or of flags or other symbols, the degree of openness, allow them to be adapted to different uses. This is a feature explored in Roger Canals’s work (see Part II), which shows how spiritual values associated with the folk goddess María Lionza are worked into cultural representations: figurines and paintings, acted out in spirit possessions or by dance troupes and actors to be appreciated by wider audiences.The varied representations of the goddess figure meet the symbolic needs of the diverse communities adopting the cult in Venezuela and in diasporic adaptations in Barcelona and elsewhere. All of these examples demonstrate that core attributes of collective identity, whether as aspects of shared national history, or identification with political or religious ideals, can have powerful visual manifestations.

Uneasy Symbols – Signs of Dissent Sometimes the signs emerging from the public sphere are expressions of quite radical intention. ‘Taking the knee’ recently became a powerful sign of solidarity and anti-racist intentions in popular sporting arenas. The first signs of this were seen in the US when: In early August 2016, Colin Kaepernick, an NFL quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, remained seated during the playing of the national anthem and no one seemed to notice. He did it again six days later and still no one commented. Perhaps it was because Kaepernick’s throwing shoulder was sore and he wasn’t in uniform. On August 26, the quarterback was in uniform, and this time when he stayed seated, people started to take notice. “I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses Black people and people of color,” Kaepernick told an NFL Media reporter after the game.” (Rounds 2020) Racism in sport and especially in football has been a constant ugly feature: banana skins thrown onto the pitch, monkey chanting, Nazi salutes and verbal aggression to the black players. As support for the BLM movement surged, triggered by the murder of George Floyd in Minnesota, the pitch of demonstrations against overt and incipient racism was thrown into the spotlight. Taking the knee in 2020 was a political act showing solidarity with George Floyd and BLM. This morphed into a more generalised act of commitment to anti-racism and resistance to the racism suffered by many players. When the English team showed solidarity by collectively taking the knee, it earned some disparaging booing from English fans at matches in the 2020 Euros, and this reaction seemed not only to receive no criticism but to be actively endorsed by the government. In June 2020, Priti Patel (Home Secretary) said she did not support fans and footballers taking the knee. ‘I just don’t support people participating in that type of gesture politics’,

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174 Visual Research and Social Realities she told broadcaster GB News. Asked whether England fans had a right to boo England’s national team after they were heard booing players during the anti-racism gesture, she said: ‘That’s a choice for them quite frankly. I’ve not gone to a football match to even contemplate that.’ Ms Patel has previously described Black Lives Matter protests as ‘dreadful’, and said she would not take the knee herself in solidarity with activists. A football final can be a powerful spectacle promoting a cohesive vision of society – very valuable to politicians. This anticipation of national victory (at last) grew as the team overcame obstacles, building on the skill and optimism of players who embodied many positive elements of the national character working in unity. Recent (2021) screening of the Euro football final in the UK was a case in point. The spectacle of the game broke records for mass public viewing in the UK; close to 31 million nationwide watched at home, while countless thousands watched in other venues; in pubs and mass screenings in streets. In addition, the BBC said there had been nearly 7 million requests to access its iPlayer stream of the match, and ITV said its Hub service had received 4.2 million requests (Waterson, in The Guardian, 12 July 2021). The narrative which developed around the national team, the visualisation of their successful cooperation and team dynamics, was a powerful catalyst for public values and attitudes. Although, initially, taking the knee had earned boos from the home crowd, this was now seen as a normal ritual part of the spectacle, despite the apparent Trumpian equivocation of the Prime Minister and Home Secretary. But the painful spectacle of the defeat as, in a penalty shoot-out, three black team members, Rashford, Sancho and Saka, missed their shots, quickly demonstrated that the much-lauded national unity, following in the wake of Covid, was far from consensual. A torrent of racist abuse aimed at these three young men erupted from social media platforms. In the UK, since Brexit and BLM demonstrations, the hidden fissures of division have become if anything more visible and

Figure 4.9 West Ham United’s Jesse Lingard taking a knee before the Premier League game against Southampton at the London Stadium, 23 May 2021 Source: Creative Commons AttributionShare Alike 4.0 International licence.

Figure 4.10 Icon of prayer – a solid-weight icon from Font Awesome, a free web icon font Source: Creative Commons AttributionShare Alike 4.0 International licence.

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Visualising Identity 175 may have widened. After this evidence of racist abuse, ministers were, of course, quick to show ardent disapproval to capture the public mood. Patel commented on Twitter: I am disgusted that England players who have given so much for our country this summer have been subject to vile racist abuse on social media. It has no place in our country and I back the police to hold those responsible accountable. But this earned a rebuke from Tyrone Mings, a black footballer, who responded: You don’t get to stoke the fire at the beginning of the tournament by labelling our anti-racism message as ‘Gesture Politics’ & then pretend to be disgusted when the very thing we’re campaigning against, happens. ‘Taking the knee’ is a form of ‘interpellation’,6 a term employed by Althusser, which relates to the contention that ideology always has a material existence: ‘an ideology always exists in an apparatus, and its practice, or practices’ (Althusser 1972: 166). Ideology always manifests itself through actions, which are ‘inserted into practices’ (ibid.: 114), for example, rituals, conventional behaviour, and this pre-match ritual effectively demonstrates support for a non-racist view of the world and certainly of the game being played out. The action of ‘taking the knee’ is rather like Pascal’s formula about the performative aspect of religious belief. As Althusser argued: ‘Pascal says more or less: “Kneel down, move your lips in prayer, and you will believe”’ (ibid.). It is our performance of our relation to others and to social institutions that continually instantiates us as subjects (Felluga 2011). So given his class position and his long history of using belittling racist epithets, it is far from surprising that Boris Johnson, when asked if he would take the knee himself, avoided the question.

Seeing Things: Entangled in Material Culture These forms of individual expression are selective signs of our cultural identity and tastes.At the same time such signs attest to internalised societal structures; the internal and external are dual aspects of identity, part of an ongoing individual dialogue which negotiates meanings and expressions of identity. ‘The society “in our heads” and the society “out there” which we have to cope with somehow, are aspects of the same thing and not, finally, more or less real than one another’ (Watkins 1975: 31). For the individual wishing to express aspects of self-identity, there is, as Jenkins reminds us, the possibility of individuals drawing upon ‘a wide palette of accessories in the human world …’ (Jenkins 2004: 49). What follows is a short discussion of the sort of visual evidence which might be collected to enhance, or in some cases become the central focus of, research around complex identities. Consider the taken-for-granted objects which blend into daily life in our homes. Members of a family grow up around them and their tangible presence might serve as central correlates and narratives; souvenirs of events and places alongside our own private sense of familial relationships and the passage of time within the home. Time-worn objects may become precious, retained as they are somehow imbued with the lives of parents and siblings. The 1950s Smith’s timer (Figure 4.13) was such a constant in our house and nearly seventy years on still works. The ‘Welsh’ stool had been in the family since the 1920s and was carved by my father’s guardian who was a worker in silver and used, so I was told, the same chasing tools and techniques on the intricate pattern.

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Figure 4.11 Cabinet display, HistoricoNaturalis et Archaeologica, Dale Street Source: Photograph – Karen Slinger.

Figure 4.13 ‘Precious’ objects (2021)

Figure 4.12 Votive wax offerings, Olhao, Portugal

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Visualising Identity 177 Marx, again, was so presciently true when he famously described a table stepping forth as a commodity: The form of wood [Die Form des Holzes], for instance, is altered if a table is made out of it. Nevertheless the table continues to be wood, an ordinary, sensuous thing. But as soon as it emerges as a commodity, it changes into a thing which transcends sensuousness. It not only stands with its feet on the ground, but, in relation to all other commodities, it stands on its head, and evolves out of its wooden brain grotesque ideas, far more wonderful than if it were to begin dancing on its own free will.7 (Marx 1990: 163–4) This is a striking description of the power of commodification; the fetishism of the product which occurs with the magical transformation of raw materials and labour into financial value. Marx described it as a mysterious process akin to religious experiences. Human identity is interwoven with material objects and artefacts, products can be landmarks entangled with our lives. Marx showed how commodities are fetishised – humanised – and, conversely, how people, through the exploitation of their labour, become objectified and alienated within a capitalist system of production. As part players in life’s narratives, it is not surprising that some objects are imbued with a haunting aura. Some are singled out, and kept. These objects can be precious ‘souvenirs’ because they recall events. The limestone spiral in Figure 4.13 is the oldest. I recall being swept down a tidal river towards the sea, only eight, terrified and unable to swim and close to being drowned, grabbing at anything I could, I hooked a hand around this and pulled myself out. The piece of iron pyrites (fool’s gold) was a gift from an eccentric miner, which he unwrapped from an oily rag as we stood together in an underground chamber in Gunpowder’s Mammoth mine in Queensland’s Gulf country in 1976. Sometimes objects have a sinister existence in memory. I still see the heavy castiron soap canister glowing palely in the yellow light in that underground space where we were drilling, when it leapt into the air as its water hose swivel seized around the end of the rod, and swung in a vicious arc narrowly missing the driller’s head. It is clear that objects can become entangled with our lives, mute witnesses to significant moments in life. The images discussed in many of the research contexts cited so far are frequently images of objects; artefacts which are significant in the context in which they were revealed: statues, postcards, window displays, posters, signposts, family albums and so on. Hartley’s pictures of how TV sets were ‘dressed’ in the family house are good examples of how TV, the focus of visual attention, performs a different function in the home, as a public object. They were adorned: ‘Often their polished wooden tops were shrines of family remembrance, with photos of absent children, wedding pictures or formal portraits, enhanced by an assortment of flowers, ornaments, trophies and doilies neatly arranged into a votive altar’ (1992: 108). This material context suggests that objects have ‘biographies’ (Appadurai 1986; Banks 2007). They have histories and a range of complex connections with people and their lives: ‘they have previous entanglements with the lives of other people which may prove important to their current roles in society when encountered by the researcher’ (Banks 2007: 60). Not all objects are so easily perceived as having a social life; this is dependent on: cultural context (Appadurai 1986; Kopytoff 2014), history (Lubar and Kingery 1995), and politics (Thomas 2001):

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178 Visual Research and Social Realities In doing the biography of a thing, one would ask questions similar to those one asks about people: What, sociologically, are the biographical possibilities inherent in its ‘status’ and in the period and culture, and how are these possibilities realized? Where does the thing come from and who made it? What had been its career so far, and what do people consider to be an ideal career for such things? What are the recognized ‘ages’ or periods in the thing’s ‘life’, and what are the cultural markers for them? How does the thing’s use change with its age, and what happens to it when it reaches the end of its usefulness? (Kopytoff 2014: 66) In a 2009 study Daniel Miller chose a London street at random and visited households to examine these micro worlds in their own right, the forms of connectivity and the role that objects play in the lives of the inhabitants. His encounters with people and their relationship to the things in their lives present a vision not of people as greedy materialists but as highly sensitive to the significance favourite objects have, sustaining and affirming their lives not as mere status symbols. One woman’s aesthetic repudiation of her parents’ coldness and snobbery takes the form of a love for McDonald’s ‘Happy Meal’ toys and IKEA furniture. Another part-Aboriginal street resident uses his laptop as a means of resolving a deep-seated cultural contradiction about materiality: wanting to give away things which most would keep and at the same time wanting to create an archive about his Aboriginal mother and his own Aboriginal heritage. ‘The laptop seems almost perfect as the solution to his ambitions in life; as the contemporary completion of a cosmological tussle with materiality which was once central to the lives of his aboriginal ancestors’ (Miller 2009: 72). Other studies have also examined this ‘domestication’ of technology (e.g. Lally 2002; Moores 2005), not only through the publicity which eases the hardware’s induction into the rhythms of domestic life, but also by exploring the process by which it is integrated into the household. The constant leapfrogging of technologies – their exponential increase in capacity and decrease in size – can render goods swiftly obsolete or socially embarrassing. Within the family, product use of computers, stereos, iPods, TVs, DVD players, game consoles and so on may be divided along gendered or generational lines. Computers are often perceived as essential for a child’s educational attainment but parents may become increasingly worried about their distracting use for the purposes of entertainment or social networking potential. Parent-to-child relationships of competition and collaboration are significant factors in the uses and meanings of consumer products. Hence ‘consumer durables’ can become key actors in the fabric of everyday life. Material artefacts embody symbolic meanings. Giddens (1991) points to the ‘dilemmas of the self ’ faced by the individual in modern society, and the opportunities that modernity appears to offer for ‘symbolic self-completion’ (Gollwitzer and Wicklund 1982) through the continually enlarging choice of consumer goods. McCracken (1990) points out how effectively consumer goods embody displaced meaning – allowing us to pursue our highest ideals, by embedding them in consumer goods, without ever exposing the ideals themselves to the withering light of scrutiny. Sales of very expensive luxury cars rose steeply during the pandemic, perhaps suggesting the motive for escape and control had been heightened; this is a sort of elite retail therapy. In another street-based study of ‘things’, Robert Williams and his 10-year-old son Jack Aylward-Williams bring an artistic and scientific passion to the forensic analysis and cataloguing of everyday material objects. The cabinet of collected objects – Historico-Naturalis

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Visualising Identity 179 et Archaeologica ex-Dale Street (Figure 4.11 above) – is an attempt to archive many different facets of everyday life of Dale Street in Lancaster.Transcending the boundaries of the traditional museum, the Williams have created a repository of folk memories, not mere suburban detritus but a celebration of the things which are meaningful in our lives.These are objects which have their own biographies, indeed many objects come into being through use: ‘Any object is always actualized in a specific moment of use, which produces both the object and the sort of person looking at it’ (Rose 2007: 220).With an obvious passion for natural histories (Gilbert White’s Natural History of Selborne is cited as one of the key influences), the collection elevates the everyday by treating it with the same forensic fervour usually reserved for items in exotic collections in museums. Cataloguing the material objects from the everyday life of a suburban city street; from cigarette packets and tennis balls to genus of beetles and snail shells and conkers, test tubes containing ‘squashed bees’, mobile phone SIM cards, and the skeleton of a mouse. Each item is labelled and dated, with details of location and catalogue numbers. This form of bricolage8 demonstrates the extraordinary diversity of one street. In selecting a street in Lancaster, itself a mirror of social diversity in contemporary Britain, the project offers the opportunity for a community to reflect on its relationship with the plants, animals and insects in the locality, as well as its own history and demography. (Williams and Aylward-Williams 2009: Abstract) Anthropologically objects can be considered to have a social life because they are linked to the system of production, and through consumption and exchange they can be imbued with value, both monetary and social status; they can thereby enter the constellation of goods which represent worth and identity. Arun Appadurai (1986) discussed the ‘commodity’ role of objects as only one possible phase in a complex social journey of the object. Everyday objects are another window into people’s lives, narratives, sense of identity and belonging. Objects can be aspirational; like collectors’ items, imbued with the promise contained in the sleek, well-manufactured lines of consumer luxury, a car or a camera. They can play roles in the ongoing narratives of relationships, forms of exchange, symbols of forgiveness, or eternal love; they can be customised, modified and disposed of or destroyed in a moment of anger or as an act of spite. These studies are centred on the world of things, setting out to examine the everyday in detail. Miller’s study demonstrates that people’s uses of material things are complex and transcendent and not easily reduced to some form of false consciousness or commodity fetishism. The Williams’ project is a sort of collective celebration of things unremarkable in themselves but which, when gathered together and set out with such custodial care, exert a remarkable presence, a pride in the shared lives that they represent. Roger Canals’s work takes a critical anthropological approach, showing how spiritual values associated with the folk goddess María Lionza are transformed into concrete representations: figurines, paintings; or enacted in spirit possessions or by dance troupes and actors. This process is another example of ‘ritual condensation’, a term used by anthropologists to explain the process whereby thought objects are converted into material objects, often through ritual processes. By converting ideas, products of the mind (mentifacts), into material objects ‘out there’, we give them relative permanence, and in that permanent material form we

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180 Visual Research and Social Realities can subject them to technical operations which are beyond the capacity of the mind acting by itself. It is the difference between carrying out mathematical calculations ‘in your head’ and working things out with a pencil and paper or on a calculating machine. (Leach 1976: 37) The ritual object gives a tangible and visible presence to referents which exist on a different, transcendental plane, whether these referents are ‘real’, imagined, concrete or abstract. In Figure 4.12, this collection of votive offerings made of wax hangs in a shrine near a church in Olhao in Portugal.These are wax replicas of afflicted body parts, or small figurines of infants or other family members. Similar practices have been recorded at Mediterranean healing shrines since the first millennium BC (see Nolan and Nolan 1989). “The people,” said vendor Eduardo Silva, “when they have a problem, for example in the hand or something, promise to Our Lady of Fatima if they [are] cured, [the] problem was solved, they [will] come to Fatima to put on the fire one of those to burn.” The Portuguese call them promessas de cera, or “wax promises.” They’re moulded around the objects of answered prayers: a premature baby who pulled through; breast cancer that went into remission; or homes and businesses that survived the financial crisis. (Kersey 2017) In some rites the unseen spirits are personified or enacted through symbolic objects; in the Catholic Eucharist, for example, the body and blood of Jesus pass into the host and the wine. Professor Canals’s film The Blood and The Hen and his most recent film A Goddess in Motion (María Lionza in Barcelona) show examples of rituals in which blood, smoke and water, perfumes and even chemicals like ammonia are used to cleanse initiates, channelling unseen supernatural forces. Arguably this symbolic role of objects can also be extended to popular dramas in theatre, cinema and TV, channelling abstract, existential concepts through the interplay of characters in every imaginable situation. O’Sullivan et al. (1994) point out that characters in TV dramas play symbolic roles; personifications of fundamental oppositions: nature/ culture, good/evil, normal/deviant, aggressive/passive, etc. The themes in domestic dramas and crime series are repeated endlessly, suggesting that they represent key cultural dilemmas central to cultural life and that they remain unresolved. Using the example of the successive rolling out of US cop dramas Ironside, Kojak and Starsky and Hutch, Fiske and Hartley (2003) argued that the articulation of moral or deviant behaviour is enacted, each cop show subsuming the role of ‘bard’, and through ritual condensation of societal values, the characters of the key protagonists seem to embody societal values of morality and justice. Forty years later the ritual aspects of the police drama have changed. Today the straightforward divide between deviant, evil criminality and moral, upstanding officer of the law is less tenable: ‘Crime dramas used to end with the forces of law and order winning as the good guys. Not anymore. In Line of Duty9 even the good guys have to be just a little corrupt’ (Jenkins 2021). It is suggested that we have made a transition from being primarily driven by a work ethic as a ‘society of producers’ to a ‘society of consumers’. The kind of society ‘that promotes, encourages or enforces the choice of a consumerist lifestyle and life strategy

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Visualising Identity 181 and dislikes all alternative cultural options …’ (Bauman 2007: 53). As Zizek argues of Pepsi, this may even entail ‘a weird perverted duty’ to enjoy the product (2012). Ultimately, though, the most valuable commodity is not the manufactured good or service but consumers themselves: ‘Members of the society of consumers are themselves consumer commodities …’ (Bauman 2007: 57). Commodities, goods and services and their brands can serve as symbols of identity and status. And consumption provides opportunities to display our status and taste; commodities and ‘lifestyle choices’ are indices of social position. Different people surround themselves with different constellations of products, cementing their social identity or creating distinctions between themselves and others. Bourdieu (1986) made a study which presented overlapping maps of ‘distinction’ across the French middle classes and their patterns of cultural consumption in 1960s Paris. Films, literature, painting, music and cuisine are forms of ‘cultural capital’ especially associated with taste and how class cultures are divided. Waters (1995: 140) argues that categories such as lifestyle, taste and fashion have ‘become the key sources of social differentiation, displacing class and political affiliation’. Bourdieu’s mapping of cultural capital in Distinction (1986) shows how patterns of taste cluster along axes of high or low economic and cultural capital. For example, in the quadrant in which economic capital is predominant rather than cultural capital, and overall capital is low, we see a cluster of taste indicators: TV, football and rugby, Brigitte Bardot, lard, vin rouge ordinaire, potatoes and accordion music in a cluster around employees on lowest to mid-low incomes. In the diagonally opposite quadrant where cultural capital predominates and spending power is highest, the top cadre of professionals such as university lecturers appear to surround themselves with opera and avant-garde music like Boulez and Xenakis, they visit art galleries, and have an appreciation of the pop artist Andy Warhol. It was the first study of its kind to correlate cultural consumption and social and economic position. Bourdieu’s concept of ‘habitus’ suggests that material conditions shape individual identities and behaviours, creating an internalised common-sense understanding of where boundaries properly lie; a sort of compass for the ‘rules of the game’. This generative principle is crucial in the arena of consumption because it suggests that, in simple terms, individuals and social groups have a ‘habitus’ – a generative principle which tends to reproduce hegemonic cultural and economic relations and which develops as an internalised shaper of dispositions in the individual resulting from their material conditions. The individual consumer makes distinctions between products based on an unconscious classification system which reflects inbuilt habitus. This system of classification relates to structural oppositions between high/low, masculine/feminine, white/black, distinguished/vulgar, good/bad (see Lury 1999: 86). If the material practice of consumption is indicative of individual and group identities, what role might visual and multimodal elements play in this expression of difference? It seems clear that social media provide the means to constantly update one’s consumption practices and demonstrate distinction and discernment and accrue status through number of ‘likes’ attained. Much of the traffic is centred around some imagery or memes, often including visual records of people, places, meals, fashion items, or consumer hardware. Recent studies (e.g. Paßmann and Schubert 2021) have shown that the form of ‘field analysis’ associated with Bourdieu is well suited to online interactions and expressions of taste which are indicative of core values of individual and group identity. In addition, it may be that the focus on specific objects (those markers in a hierarchy of distinction and

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182 Visual Research and Social Realities taste) is not as important as the manner in which individuals appreciate and consume them (Prieur and Savage 2014). Bourdieu’s delineation of class along the economic and educational boundaries of cultural tastes was not without opponents. The definition of habitus is vague and contradictory (see Jenkins 1992, and Glossary, for discussion of ‘habitus’). Habitus as a unitary formation in which attributes, tastes, codes and cultural knowledge all tend to cluster around an individual’s position in society may seem hard to support. Bennett (2009) cites Bernard Lahire’s (2001) work which showed empirically that people often have ‘dissonant’ cultural tastes which straddle the boundaries that Bourdieu had drawn. Many people display more omnivorous tastes, crossing these supposed boundaries between high and low culture all the time. The notion that identity might be delineated through economic and cultural location seems to be borne out. While the alignment of working-class identity with low income is certainly not clear-cut these days (the boundaries of exclusive education are blurring as universities are seeing a wider range of students) there remains a steep division in access to cultural capital, for example classical literature, music and avant-garde art are still largely the province of an elite. In the UK, over 70 per cent of politicians have a university education. A third have attended private schools (which educate just 7 per cent of the population) and 43 per cent have graduated from one of the thirteen leading universities (and Oxbridge10 graduates make up over a quarter of the total). Moreover, the education system tends to reproduce these inequalities, maintaining cultural boundaries. Status, cultural capital and patterns of consumption are key aspects of identity.The relationship of consumerism to identity formation can be examined through analyses of media advertising and product promotion which have long been concerned with tailoring promotional messages and product attributes to target specific demographics and deeper psychographic features of consumer identity and personality. To the extent that representations of identity are marketed, it could be suggested that advertising is partly about selling us back images of ourselves, but these images are frequently distorted, idealised and aspirational. However, for all the obvious power of the market to distract and seduce the consumer, there is much about these complex processes which is less overt and much more personal. In Chapter 1 the idea of cultural imaginaries was briefly discussed. It is clear that the material and visual elements of things, the furniture of our lives, are elements in a sort of personal imaginary, as well as the broader significance of the material world of commerce and advertising which produces a consensual picture of the society we live in. There is the special importance of objects to people but also the intentional sales messages of advertising and promotions; individuals develop strong relationships with consumption. Marketing intelligence is becoming more finely tuned to individual needs, however subtle and idiosyncratic. Sometimes advertising campaigns bring about change in attitudes through use of hard-hitting and emotive visual messages. Back in the late 1980s in Melbourne, with the road death toll in Victoria soaring, Grey Advertising reviewed the brief for a preventative campaign which would necessarily ‘upset, outrage and appal’ drunk drivers. The first TAC commercial, which aired on 10 December 1989, told the harrowing story of a young man whose drunk driving had led to his girlfriend being admitted to hospital with serious injuries. The TV ad flooded the airwaves for several months. In the ‘Girlfriend’ advert, we see the arrival at A&E; the male driver, his arm bandaged and still intoxicated, punches the wall and staggers into the surgery where his girlfriend is being operated on, he calls her name. The girl’s parents have been informed by medics that

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Visualising Identity 183 she may lose her leg, and as he enters the scene the girl’s mother flails at him violently. He cries ‘I’m so sorry’, tilting his head back against the wall – the shame and anguish he suffers is tangible.We cut to a Charge Nurse at Royal Melbourne Hospital; she describes the impression she has of drink driving casualties: ‘you have to learn to cope with the sheer human waste, the stench of alcohol’, ‘they hurt themselves and the people they’re supposed to care about’, culminating in the phrase which became the memorable logo for the posters and other forms which were spun off from this ad: ‘If you drink, then drive, you’re a bloody idiot’. Using this memorable slogan, a poster portrayed a still of the drunk young man, his wounded head bearing stitches tilted against a wall as he cries. When the poster was deployed along Melbourne’s highways, the agency had intended to trigger emotional impact rather like that of the McDonald’s brand logo; the symbol of the ‘golden arches’ triggers an involuntary feeling of hunger and motivates the driver to seek the drive-in entrance for McDonald’s. In the case of the drink-driving poster the image recalls the traumatic emotions of the TV ad and causes the driver to ease off the accelerator and think of the consequences. Hence the primary influence of the video served as a form of operant conditioning and the response to their ‘brand’ would be the impulse to slow down and avoid guilt and trauma. Greg Harper, Grey’s TAC account executive at the time, stated: Road safety is an impulse decision that requires constant, high, top of mind product promotion to penetrate and motivate behaviour. It’s more like buying a McDonald’s hamburger. You need to be reminded of who McDonald’s is, and what they sell, every day of the year. The same top-of-mind awareness is required for the road safety message to remain effective. (Grey Advertising 1989: 36) At that time in Victoria the road toll was projected to hit 1,000 deaths a year. But in the twelve months following the release of this ad the road toll dropped by 37 per cent. For thirty years the campaign rolled on, embedded in the consciousness of Victorian drivers. In 2013 the theme was extended to include further traumatic scenarios in the aftermath of a fatal accident featuring ‘A bloody idiot’s mum’, ‘A bloody idiot’s girlfriend’ and ‘A bloody idiot’s mate’, and a reminder of the legal consequences, a scary-looking ‘bloody idiot’s cellmate’. One of the issues which Greg Harper mentioned to me was that it is well known that this sort of ‘shock and awe’ tactic, linking negative behaviours to shocking visceral imagery, while initially highly effective, can become numbing and gradually less effective. But it seems that the powerful heuristic mechanism is fear, guilt and, most importantly, shame. In 2007 the New South Wales Roads and Transport Authority (NSW RTA) launched a campaign targeting young males with a high tendency to break speed limits.The resultant advertising used a less dramatic narrative than the long-running Victorian campaign but it was also very effective. Figure 4.14 is a poster again, developed from a short TV advert (from the NSW RTA), which came to be known as the ‘pinkie’ ad .While it needs little deconstruction, the focus here is on very much a male problem: speeding offences are overwhelmingly committed by males (85 per cent). The billboard captured the central motif from a 45-second ad in which young males in high-powered cars cruise streets and accelerate with wheelsmoking power to show off to attractive young women – but their response is the crooked little finger.

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Figure 4.14 The RTA ‘Pinkie’ advertisement, 2007, New South Wales, Australia

The gesture is well known, and typically refers to diminutive penis size. This gesture used in the ads hit the right nerve. Speeding represents a sense of power and control and for young males aged 18–25 it arguably provides a sense of status, masculinity and freedom. This is a notoriously hard group to access, but the underlying message went to the heart of the issue. They had found a visual cue which engaged these young men; a sign that the wider community saw speeding as ‘uncool’, and most significantly perhaps even their own mates. Twelve months after the launch of the ‘pinkie’ campaign … qualitative research confirmed that it had achieved spectacular results. The campaign has given young male drivers a valid and personally relevant rationale to consider changing their driving behaviour. (Watsford 2008: 392) The immediate simplicity of the ad belies the complex communication conveyed. Much has been made in the past of the power of subliminal images and messages, images which have a latent content subconsciously perceived: concealed sexual images and words airbrushed into ice-cubes or clouds. However, although inevitably advertisers will try and exploit the ambiguity and arousal factor in images, there may be little need to use such so-called ‘hidden persuaders’ (Packard 1961) because images are already operating at a sub-threshold level; by their very nature images link to powerful intertextual connotations evoking strong emotional responses.

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Visualising Identity 185 From the discussion so far, it becomes apparent that consumption practices are packaged and branded to target certain features of the product, or the promise of the product, which will be seen as significant to the individual consumer (sometimes these are concrete entities, such as fridges or computers, sometimes abstract ones, such as road safety or safe sex). In late capitalism, marketing communications identify and target smaller segments, using marketing intelligence to draw out the psychographic profiles and reveal deep-seated attributes which, when skilfully crafted into creative advertising narratives, resonate persuasively with groups of consumers and their aspirations, dreams and desires, as well as their fears and anxieties.

Visual Identity and Product Attributes Lévi-Strauss derived the meaning of bricolage from ‘bricoleur’ – someone who does odd jobs, making and mending things from bits and pieces which have been left over from previous jobs. It provides a ‘science of the concrete’ by which the world is ordered in minute ways. Jean-Marie Floch (2000) uses this concept to discuss the way in which visual identities are created through a process of bricolage, implying both continuity and difference in the manipulation of signs. These identities have become a central part of life in our material consumerist culture. Floch gives the well-known global examples of Apple and IBM, as well as more characteristic French ones, like the Opinel knife, which has developed a rich Gaelic peasant mythology, including esoteric terms like the ‘coup de Savoyard’ (which is the little tap the user gives the knife to release the blade), and the multi-sensorial world of Chanel. These are the dramatis personae of Floch’s portraits. These detailed analyses of the visual identities of consumer objects include their design, the ‘value systems of consumption’ and the ‘ideologies of advertising’, relationships between form and design, and market position. Floch shows that a great deal is revealed from a micro-semiotics of the consumer system in later capitalism which breathes life into branded objects. Judith Williamson (in her 1978 book Decoding Advertisements) uses the term ‘bricolage’ to explain the way in which advertisers exploit fragments of pre-existing ideological thinking to construct social meanings and identification for products; the linking of many different reference systems, such as interlinked meanings of celebrities (what Richard Dyer (2003) has termed the ‘Star System’) and the values which they have come to represent. For example, Catherine Deneuve’s association with sophistication and chic fashion became linked to Chanel No 5 (see e.g. Dyer 1982). In some cases, the personification of the brand (the so-called ‘brand personality’), enmeshed as it is with the public perception of the celebrities in question, can become problematic if the image of the star becomes tarnished or they become involved in scandal; for example, the association of Michael Jackson with Pepsi, or recently Tiger Woods with Gillette. As revelations unfolded about the troubled personal life of these stars, they lost their viability to embody the supposed virtues of the brand. The desire to possess products which appear to have been imbued with these sought-after human qualities of excellence, triumphant strength and skill, youthful energy, rugged individuality or sensual allure, arguably sustains and reproduces a market-driven system: The power of purchase – taking home a new thing, the anticipation of unwrapping – seems to drink up the desire for something new, the restlessness and unease that must be engendered in a society where so many have so little active power, other than

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186 Visual Research and Social Realities to withdraw the labour which produces its prizes. These objects which become the aims of our passions are also shored up to protect us from them, the bricks of a dam held together by the very force it restrains. Passion is a longing that breaks beyond the present, a drive to the future, and yet it must be satisfied in the forms of the past. (Williamson 1987: 13) The quote from Williamson nicely captures the paradox of consumerism; we, like the bricks in the dam, are harnessed into a system of production and consumption, an unbroken chain held together by our very desire to break out. The term ‘desire economy’ is a recognition that we are in a new period in our social and economic identity in which the aspirational has replaced the merely utilitarian and functional, brand identity replaces use value, identity politics and consumer sector cleavages are the new markers of identity. Kress and Hodge’s (1988) (1988) conception of ‘ideological complexes’ shows that distorted false consciousness stems both from positions of dominance and solidarity. Similarly, products and their imagery seem to contain a promise, of recognition, esteem and social acceptance, but at the same time their purchase perpetuates a system of dominance and one-up-man-ship. Much of this economy is mediated by images, spectacles which fetishise consumer objects, arguably more overt and honest in the sense that we know this is the purpose of advertising. During the pandemic, news releases showed photo ops of politicians rolling up their sleeves and involved in factory work, making PPC and wearing white coats in medical laboratories, handling test tubes, in the national drive to produce vaccines.The creation of spectacles which can drive the narrative and disguise misconduct and failure is always a priority.

Body Projects For an increasing number of people, the body itself, as well as being an instrument of our identity experience, and indeed the embodiment of our identity, is an arena upon which cultural messages can be inscribed. For Giddens, in the post-traditional order, self-identity becomes a reflexive project – an endeavour that we continuously work and reflect on. Giddens suggests that the characteristic of reflexivity in late-modern societies ‘extends into the core of the self ’ (1991: 32). We create, maintain and revise a set of biographical narratives – the story of who we are, and how we came to be where we are now. During an interview, a local tattoo artist, Dave Murray, commented: ‘It’s your own house, the only thing you’ll ever really own’ (unpublished interview, 2000). Making ideas flesh is an increasing preoccupation as people seek to increase their social or cultural capital, through implants, cosmetic surgery, gym work, tattooing, piercing and even branding. Such forms of body modification are an expressive form of consumption which draws boundaries between the self and others and allows the individual to project themselves on to a broader canvas. Social science has long presented such ‘body projects’ (Shilling 1993) as signs of deviance, in which the tattoo serves as ‘a badge of dislocated, ostracised, and disenfranchised communities’ (Atkinson 2004: 126). However, the recent upsurge in popularity of tattooing and piercing indicates a much more complex use of body markings as forms of individual and social identity. Rather than narrow and gangrelated signs of some compulsory collective belonging, research is showing that tattoos and piercings are viewed as ‘voluntary auto-biographical resources for personal identities constructed around values of individuality, difference and authenticity’ (Ferreira 2009: Abstract).

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Visualising Identity 187 The tattooed subject (Figure 4.15) suggested that tattoos were an expensive and aesthetic commodity for the discerning professional, and rejected the working-class stereotypes associated with the practice, making the point that tattoos such as his were not the province of the working classes, but distinctive, individualistic and requiring a middleclass income and outlook; in his words: ‘Tattoos, historically are actually status symbols – they’re not the working class, sailor type “jack tars”. The people who can afford the sort of work Dave does are generally quite professional people.’ The subject’s personal project was a private odyssey defining and developing a personal narrative subsuming and reflecting new expressions and revising earlier icons of taste: ‘my tattoos are fairly dark and strange – that’s a reflection of me, it goes back to something Dave said earlier, you know, people will actually wear their personalities on the outside without realising it – it’s not the British way to share that much’ (unpublished interview with tattoo artist Dave Murray, 2000, and a long-term client). For this person, year by year, these visual forms gradually extended and changed along with his self-perceptions.11 Sometimes it seems the ‘project’ can become a major facet of the person’s life and identity. Elaine Davidson (Figure 4.16) emphasises that she feels happy and fulfilled with the thousands of body piercings she has. At this level of adornment, the individual crosses from private narratives of expressions of identity to public exhibition and a form of celebrity. Indeed, Elaine is the official world record holder for body piercing and as of 2014 her piercings totalled 9,800. Five year later this total was increased. In January 2019 she had 11,003 body piercings and was still getting more piercings to hold on to the Guinness Book of Records record. A postmodern argument suggests that under consumer capitalism the body becomes a ‘visible carrier of the self ’ (Featherstone 1982). The way individuals explore personal identity in these examples is unique and takes considerable personal investment, in Elaine’s case a total commitment. Ghigi and Sassatelli (2018: 290) argue that, ‘All in all, a variety of products and services indeed give evidence to the increasing process of performative, aestheticized rationalisation of the body, whereby individualisation is coupled with standardization, self-surveillance with spectacularization, discipline with hedonism’ (Sassatelli 2012).

Figure 4.15 Tattoos as personal expression

Figure 4.16 Elaine Davidson, ‘the world’s most pierced woman’

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188 Visual Research and Social Realities Increasingly in the last two decades, personal expressions of these kinds are often mediated electronically. Selfies, blogs, Instagram accounts, and sites and apps for almost any marker of identity status, taste, belonging, from cuisine to dating to measures of fitness and even sexual performance, can be measured and logged for others to see. Today the resulting audience for this data is not just ourselves and other people: our audience today includes machines. The machines parse the data we provide, running selfies through facial recognition software, our status updates through sentiment analysis software, our health data through risk indication analyses, and send the results on to marketers, employers, insurers or governments. Machines helped us create those self-representations in the first place. And yet, we continue to express ourselves. We are humans, after all. ‘Photography is power,’ Susan Sontag wrote (1978, 8). Selfies and other self-representations can be seen as a way of taking back this power, just as UPS drivers track their supervisors and protestors turn cameras on the police. (Walker Rettberg 2014: 87–8)

Critical Questions 1. Look at your local environment. Are there signs or symbols of local, regional or national identity being displayed (e.g. flags, statues, other architectural features)? Make a note of these and consider how well they reflect the current social and cultural identities and mix where you live. 2. Are there collective symbols which express a certain identity of your culture? This could include gender, ethnicity, age group, social class. Are there dissenting signs which constitute alternative readings of identity? How easy are these things to identify and represent? Are visual methods useful here? 3. The TAC ads in this chapter targeted different demographic groups in each advert to ensure groups couldn’t so easily dismiss their messages. E.g. adverts for country and city for youth, middle- and working-class characters. Consider consumption and the manner in which products and services along with their branding and advertising work to influence us through dimensions of our identities. Choose an advertisement which you feel is influential, and one that fails. Dissect the imagery and verbal message to explain why.

Activity – think about objects and things (can you differentiate the two terms? – see Ingold 2013) which have important meanings to you and your family. Choose three which capture unique aspects of lived identity.

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Notes 1 See Glossary – ‘Third Effect’; also see Panizza Allmark’s essay in this volume. 2 See Glossary under ‘Identity Politics’. Strategic essentialism is a politically motivated decision in the face of divisive marginalisation – ‘black power’ for example provided many groups with a power base which could support a liberation movement against oppression. 3 See Glossary – ‘Identity Politics’. 4 A front cover typical of Hebdo, which the magazine published immediately after the massacre, 14 January 2015, pictured a weeping cartoon of the prophet Mohammed holding the ‘Je Suis Charlie’ sign – under a title ‘Tout est Pardonné’ (All is Forgiven). 5 Quoted from Caplow (2007: 132). 6 See Glossary – ‘Interpellation’. 7 Marx is here referring to the recent fad of ‘table tapping’ reports of spiritualist seances where tables moved supernaturally. 8 See Glossary – ‘Bricolage’. 9 Line of Duty is a very popular BBC UK drama about police corruption and entanglement with organised crime, written by Jed Mercurio. 10 Oxbridge is a portmanteau term for Oxford and Cambridge. 11 The tattoos here demonstrated also a homage to the work of artist and designer Hans Ruedi Giger, best known for shaping the visual direction of the 1979 film Alien (Ridley Scott, director). As a footnote the subject mentioned that he and the tattooist had visited Giger’s medieval chateau and the Swiss artist had signed the subject’s tattoos in ink, a very important moment for him.

References Allmark, P. (2002) ‘Urban exposures.Transformations: regions, culture and society’, 5. Online. www. cqu.edu.au/transfor mations (accessed 28 December 2009). Allmark, P. (2007) ‘Flagging Australia: photographs of banal nationalism’, Illumina, 2. Online. http:// illumina.scca.ecu.edu.au/journal_view.php?rec_id=0000000041. Allmark, P. (2009) ‘City symbolism: discourses of space and place’, presentation at a colloquium on discourse, Sheffield Hallam University. Althusser, L. (1972) Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays, trans. Ben Brewster, New York: Monthly Review Press. Appadurai,A.(1986) The Social Life ofThings:Commodities in Cultural Perspective,Minneapolis:University of Minnesota Press. Aries, Philippe (1962) Centuries of Childhood, London:Vintage. Atkinson, M. (2004) ‘Tattooing and civilizing processes: body modification as self-control’, The Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology, 41: 41–53. Banks, M. (2007) Using Visual Data in Qualitative Research, London: Sage. Bauman, Zygmunt (2007) Consuming Life, Oxford: Blackwell. Beaumont-Thomas, Ben, Interviewer (2016) ‘Jeff Mitchell’s best photograph: “These people have been betrayed by Ukip”’, The Guardian, 22 June. Online. www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/ 2016/jun/22/jeff-mitchells-best-shot-the-column-of-marching-refugees-used-in-ukips-bre xit-campaign Bennett, S. (2009) Culture, Class, Distinction, London: Routledge. Berger, P.L. and Luckmann, T. (1966) The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge, New York: Garden City. Berry, Mike, Garcia-Blanco, Inaki and Moore, Kerry (2015) ‘Press coverage of the refugee and migrant crisis in the EU: a content analysis of five European countries’, Report prepared for the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (December 2015), Cardiff School of Journalism, Media and Cultural Studies. Online. www.unhcr.org/56bb369c9.pdf

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190 Visual Research and Social Realities Best, S. (2005) Understanding Social Divisions, London: Sage. Billig, M. (1995) Banal Nationalism, London: Sage. Blake, W.P. (1959) The Gap: A Book to Bridge the Dangerous Years, Adelaide: Applied Journalism. Bourdieu, P. (1986) Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, London: Routledge. Burr,V. (1999) An Introduction to Social Construction, London: Routledge. Caplow, D. (2007) Leopoldo Méndez: Revolutionary Art and the Mexican Print, Austin: University of Texas Press. Cohen, A. (1985) The Symbolic Construction of Community, London: Routledge. Cohen, S. (1972) Folk Devils and Moral Panics, London: MacGibbon and Kee. Coover, R. (2009) ‘On verité to virtual: conversations on the frontier of film and anthropology’, Visual Studies, 24(3), December. Cottle, S. (2000) Ethnic Minorities and the Media, London: Allen & Unwin. Coughlin, P. (2003) ‘Postmodern parody and the subversion of conservative frameworks’, Literature/ Film Quarterly, January. Dyer, Gillian (1982) Advertising as Communication (Studies in Culture and Communication). London: Routledge. Dyer, R. (2003) Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society, 2nd edn, London: Routledge. Eagleton, T. (2016) Culture, New Haven:Yale University Press. Elgot, J. (2016) ‘How David Cameron’s language on refugees has provoked anger’, The Guardian, 27 January. www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/jan/27/davidcamerons-bunch-of-migrantsquip-is-latest-of-several-such-comments (accessed 4 September 2021). Fanon, Frantz (1963) The Wretched of the Earth, New York: Grove Press. Fanon, Frantz (1967) Black Skin,White Masks, New York: Grove Press. Featherstone, M. (1982) ‘The body in consumer culture’, Theory, Culture & Society, 1(2): 18–33. Felluga, D.F. (2011) Introductory Guide to Critical Theory. Available online at www.cla. purdue.edu/ english/theory/ Ferreira,V.S. (2009) ‘Youth scenes, body marks and bio-sociabilities’, Young, 17(3): 285–306. Online. http://you.sagepub.com/cgi/content/abstract/17/3/285 Fiske, J. and Hartley, J. (2003) Reading Television, London: Routledge. Floch, J.-M. (2000) Visual Identities, trans. P.V. Osselaer and A. McHoul, London: Continuum. Foucault, M. ([1976] 1999) ‘Of other spaces heterotopias’, Lecture, in N. Mirzoeff (ed.) The Visual Culture Reader, London: Routledge. Ghigi, R. and Sassatelli, R. (2018) ‘Body projects: fashion, aesthetic modifications and stylized selves’, in Olga Kravets, Pauline Maclaren, Steven Miles and Alladi Venkatesh (eds) The SAGE Handbook of Consumer Culture, London: Sage. Giblin, J., Ramos, I. and Grout, N. (2019) Dismantling the Master’s House: Thoughts on Representing Empire and Decolonising Museums and Public Spaces in Practice: An Introduction, Third Text. Giddens, A. (1991) Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Gollwitzer, Peter M. and Wicklund, Robert A. (1982) ‘Admission of failure and symbolic self-completion: extending Lewinian theory’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 43(2): 358–371. Granic, Isabela, Morita, Hiromitsu and Scholten, Hanneke (2020) ‘Beyond screen time: identity development in the digital age’, Psychological Inquiry, 31(3): 195–223. DOI: 10.1080/ 1047840X.2020.1820214 Grey Advertising (1989) TAC Road Safety Campaign, inhouse campaign notes of Greg Harper – unpublished. Hall, S. (1990) ‘Cultural identity and diaspora’, in J. Rutherford (ed.) Identity, London: Lawrence & Wishart. Hall, S. (ed.) (1997) Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, London: Sage. Hartley, J. (1992) The Politics of Pictures: The Creation of The Public in the Age of Popular Media, London: Routledge.

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Visualising Identity 191 Heffer, S. (2021) ‘The “heritage summit” will be British culture’s last stand against woke zealotry’, Daily Telegraph, 22 February. Ingold, T. (2013) Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture, London: Routledge. Jacobs, J.M. (1993) ‘The City Unbound: qualitative approaches to the city’, Urban Studies, 30(4/ 5): 827–848. Jenkins, R. (1992) Pierre Bourdieu, London: Routledge. Jenkins, R. (2004) Social Identity, 2nd edn, London: Routledge. Jenkins, R. (2007) ‘Inarticulate speech of the heart: nation, flag and emotion in Denmark’, in T.H.  Eriksen and R. Jenkins (eds) Flag, Nation and Symbolism in Europe and America, London: Routledge, pp. 115–135. Jenkins, Simon (2021) ‘Away from TV’s Line of Duty the police have a long, tawdry history of corruption’, The Guardian, 7 May. Jones, J. (2003) ‘Men reading El Machete’,Tina Modotti (1924), Culture, The Guardian, 15 February. Kersey, Amanda (2017) ‘Vendors do a brisk trade in beeswax body parts at Portugal’s Shrine of Fatima’, Culture section, The World, 12 May. Online. www.pri.org/stor ies/2017-05-12/vend ors-do-brisk-trade-beeswax-body-parts-portugals-shr ine-fatima Kopytoff, Igor (2014) ‘The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process’, in Arjun Appadurai (ed.) The Social Life of Things, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kress, G. and Hodge, R. (1988) Social Semiotics, New York: Polity Press. Kuper, A. (ed.) (1992) Conceptualizing Society, London: Routledge. Lahire, B. (2001) Le Travail Sociologique de Pierre Bourdieu: Dettes et Critiques, Paris: La Decouverte/ Poche. Lally, E. (2002) At Home with Computers, Oxford: Berg. Leach, Edmund (1976) Culture and Communication, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lee, A. and Poynton, C. (eds) (2000) Culture and Text: Discourse and Methodology in Social Research and Cultural Studies, St Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin. Lubar, S. and Kingery, D. (1995) History from Things: Essays on Material Culture, Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution. Lury, C. (1999) Consumer Culture, Cambridge, MA: Polity Press. Madriaga, M. (2007) ‘The Star-Spangled Banner and whiteness in American national identity’, in T.H. Eriksen and R. Jenkins (eds) Flag, Nation and Symbolism in Europe and America, London: Routledge, pp. 53–68. Marx, K. ([1976] 1990) Capital, vol. 1, London: Penguin. McCracken Grant, David (1990) Culture and Consumption: New Approaches to the Symbolic Character of Consumer Goods and Activities, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. McKenna, Hugh (1997) Nursing Theories and Models. London: Routledge. Miller, D. (2009) The Comfort of Things, New York: Polity Press. Moores, S. (2005) Media/Theory:Thinking about Media and Communications, London: Routledge. Murray, J. (2021) ‘Politicians should not “weaponise” UK history, says colonialism researcher’, Guardian online, 22 February. www.theguardian.com/culture/2021/feb/22/politicians-shouldnot-weaponise-uk-history-says-colonialism-researcher Nájera-Ramírez, O. (1994) Engendering Nationalism: Identity, Discourse, and the Mexican Charro, The George Washington University Institute for Ethnographic Research. Nolan, M.S. and Nolan, S. (1989) Christian Pilgrimage in Modern Western Europe, University of North Carolina Press. O’Sullivan, Tim, Hartley, John, Saunders, Danny, Montgomery, Martin and Fiske, John (1994) Key Concepts in Communication and Cultural Studies, 2nd edn, London: Routledge. Packard,Vance (1961) The Hidden Persuaders, London: Penguin. Paßmann, Johannes and Schubert, Cornelius (2021) ‘Liking as taste making: social media practices as generators of aesthetic valuation and distinction’, New Media & Society, 23(10): 2947–2963.

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192 Visual Research and Social Realities Parker, D. (2004) ‘Mixed race: the social identities of the future?’, in G. Taylor and S. Spencer (eds) Social Identities: Multidisciplinary Approaches, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 107–129. Pauwels, L. (2010) ‘Visual sociology reframed: an analytical synthesis and discussion of visual methods in social and cultural research’, Sociological Methods Research, 38: 545. Prieur, A. and Savage, M. (2014) ‘On “knowingness,” cosmopolitanism and busyness as emerging forms of cultural capital’, in P. Coulangeon and J. Duval (eds) The Routledge Companion to Bourdieu’s “Distinction”, London: Routledge, pp. 307–318. Radio 4 Today (2021) Debate with Prof. Wagner and Samir Shah about museums and presentation of history, 23 February. www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000sj77 Rose, G. (2007) Visual Methodologies, 2nd edn, London: Sage. Rounds, Christopher D. (2020) ‘The policing of patriotism: African American athletes and the expression of dissent’, Journal of Sport History, 47(2): 111–127. Sassatelli, Roberta (2012) ‘Self and body’, in Frank Trentmann (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of the History of Consumption, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shaw, W. (2007) Cities of Whiteness, Oxford: Blackwell. Shilling, C. (1993) The Body and Social Theory, London: Sage. Short, J.R. (1996) The Urban Order: An Introduction to Cities, Culture and Power, Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, D.E. (2005) Institutional Ethnography: A Sociology for People, Toronto: AltaMira Press. Sontag, S. (1978) On Photography, New York: Farra, Straus & Giroux. Spencer, S. (2009) ‘Drifting visions and dialectical images: everyday paradoxes in a Northern city’, Illumina, 3 (December), e-journal, Edith Cowan University. Editor: Dr Mardie O’Sullivan, Steven, M. (2016) ‘Visions of the sun: modernist Mexico’s transnational horizons’, Affirmations: of the modern, 4(1): 143–168. https://affirmationsmodern.com/articles/41/#_ftnref25 Sykes, Olivier (2018) ‘Post-geography worlds, new dominions, left behind regions, and “other” places: unpacking some spatial imaginaries of the UK’s “Brexit” debate’, Space and Polity, 22(2): 137–161. Tatari, M. (2020) ‘IE and visual research methods: an open-ended discussion’, in The Palgrave Handbook of Institutional Ethnography, pp 121–140. First Online: 16 December. Taylor, G. and Spencer, S. (eds) (2004) Social Identities: Multidisciplinary Approaches, London: Routledge. Thomas, N. (2001) ‘Appropriation/appreciation: settler modernism in Australia and New Zealand’, in The Empire of Things: Regimes of Value in Material Culture, Oxford: School of American Research Press/James Currey. Threadgold, T. (1997) Feminist Poetics, Poiesis, Performance, Histories, London: Longman. Walker Rettberg, Jill (2014) Seeing Ourselves Through Technology: How We Use Selfies, Blogs and Wearable Devices to See and Shape Ourselves, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Waters, M. (1995) Globalization, London: Routledge. Waterson, Jim, Media editor (2021) ‘Euro 2020 final attracts estimated 31 million TV audience in UK’, Guardian, 12 July. www.theguardian.com/media/2021/jul/12/euro-2020-final-attractsestimated-31-million-tv-audience-in-uk-diana-funeral Watkins, C.K. (1975) Social Control, London: Longman. Watsford, R. (2008) ‘The success of the “Pinkie” campaign – Speeding. No one thinks big of you: a new approach to road safety marketing’, Joint ACRS Travelsafe National Conference. Widerberg, K. (2004) ‘Institutional ethnography: towards a productive sociology’, an interview with Dorothy E. Smith, Sosiologisk Tidskrift, 12(2). Widerberg, K. (2007) ‘Among the “others”: migration and gender and the ethnographic approach’, Research Integration, University of York. Online. www.york.ac.uk/res/researchintegration/Integ rative_Research_Methods/Widerberg%20Ethnography%20April%202007.pdf. Williams, Robert and Aylward-Williams, Jack (2009) ‘Historico-naturalis et archaeologica ex Dale Street: the natural history & antiquities of Dale Street in the county of Lancashire’, Unipress Cumbria/Information as Material.

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Visualising Identity 193 Williamson, J. (1978) Decoding Advertisements, London: Marion Boyars. Wordley, D. and Blake, W.P. (1959) The Gap: A Book to Bridge the Dangerous Years, Adelaide: Applied Journalism. Zizek, S. (2011) Living in the End Times, London:Verso. Zizek, S. (2012) The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology, a film by Sophie Fiennes.

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5

Visual Analysis

The approach taken in this book has been one which seeks to encourage and develop personal research practice, embracing a reflexive yet critical empiricism. The focus has been on visual research as an interpretive craft which understands meaning as the result of complex construction and mediation. Rather than enumerating instances and attempting to generalise to larger populations, the type of research highlighted here has focused on small-scale case studies and detailed ‘thick descriptions’ derived from visual narratives of individuals, groups, relationships and events. It has also been suggested that the ‘craft’ of visual research requires a balance between inductive forces, allowing the collected data to speak for itself, and deductive forces, those structuring, ordering principles derived from theoretical models and concepts. Analysis is not an end point (despite the placing of this chapter), a precursor to summing up and concluding; it is central to the process of research from the outset, beginning with the pre-planning stage, conceiving valid questions, valid methodology and theoretical explanations. In addition, as well as agreeing with Geertz’s famous statement that the analysis of culture is ‘not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning’ (Geertz 1973: 5), the approach pursued here has been founded on active fieldwork; finding and generating images or encouraging and reflecting on respondent-generated images, and developing a critical ‘sociological eye’ to the study of broader cultural representations of issues and phenomena. All of these actions are purposeful and analytical, and suggest an interplay between theoretical paradigms, methodological concerns and the data itself.

Modalities and Sites Below is a tabular version of the circular diagram in Rose (2016: 25), a useful introduction to critical visual methodology. Rose outlines three ‘modalities’ through which the image is described.These are: the Technological – the media forms will determine production and transmission of the image and how it is displayed – from pen and ink to oil paints, from still photography to TV and social media; the Compositional – which concerns the elements within the image, and the choices which have been made in terms of colour, spatial patterns, texture, symmetry, proportion, depth of field, lines, curves, frames, contrast, viewpoint, depth, negative space, filled space, foreground, background, visual tension, shape. Finally, the Social – a shorthand term used by Rose to denote: ‘the range of economic, social and political relations, institutions and practices that surround an image and through which it is seen’ (2016: 26). These are starting points for an analysis and they are explored through four different dimensions or ‘sites’. These pose questions which focus DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-7

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Visual Analysis 195 Table 5.1 Model of visual analysis Modality

Site of production

Site of the image itself

Site of circulation

Site of audiencing

Technological

How was the image made?

Visual effects

How is it circulated?

Transmission? Circulation? Display?

Compositional Genre?

Composition?

How changed?

Viewing positions offered? Relation to other texts?

Social

Visual meanings

Organised by How interpreted? whom or what? By whom? Why? Why?

Who? When? For whom? Why?

Source: Adapted from Gillian Rose’s model: ‘The sites and modalities for interpreting visual materials’ (2016: 25, fig. 2).

in turn on production – how and why the image is produced; the image itself – its dynamics, visual composition and how and by whom meaning is encoded. Then the site of circulation, which addresses the process of circulating the image; and finally, the site of audiencing, where we are concerned with how audience(s) perceive and interpret the image. It is a very useful starting place, establishing foundations for a more in-depth critical appraisal of images.

The Intersubjective and Inter-Objective Aspects of Images This process of getting a general understanding of the image is crucial and can lead on to a more in-depth analysis of the significance which these specific details open up. In research, as we have seen, typically, how information about the world is presented and understood is based on the paradigm of thought which underpins the study. If, as in the sample case studies cited in this book, an interpretivist approach to the study is embraced, this implies that the object of study cannot be distanced and separated from the researcher; it is as Banks suggests ‘ontologically constituted through the act of study’ (2007: 37). The analysis of imagery requires consideration of complex factors which relate to both ‘inter-objective’ and ‘intersubjective’ dimensions. Rather like the diagram of seeing in Chapter 1, a complex matrix of forces shape and filter what and how we see, dependent on cultural and societal values. In addition, there are the dynamics of the image itself; the arrangement of signs and the intertextual associations through which we might understand these. Before going into more depth about several key forms of visual analysis it is valuable to return briefly to some philosophical speculation about pictures and representation. Bertrand Russell (1922) sums up Wittgenstein’s theory of Symbolism thus: Mr. Wittgenstein begins his theory of Symbolism with the statement (2.1): “We make to ourselves pictures of facts.” A picture, he says, is a model of the reality, and to the objects in the reality correspond the elements of the picture: the picture itself

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196 Visual Research and Social Realities is a fact. The fact that things have a certain relation to each other is represented by the fact that in the picture its elements have a certain relation to one another. “In the picture and the pictured there must be something identical in order that the one can be a picture of the other at all. What the picture must have in common with reality in order to be able to represent it after its manner – rightly or falsely – is its form of representation” (2.16, 2.17). (Bertrand Russell’s preface – The Tractatus) Nyiri (2001) comments that the dictum which Wittgenstein is expressing in the Tractatus is in summary that ‘the proposition is a picture of reality’. But that his later thought shifted toward a use theory of pictures suggesting that: pictures by themselves do not carry any meaning; they acquire meaning by being put to specific uses and by being applied in specific contexts. Those uses and contexts are defined by language; pictures are subservient to words, and indeed not even mental images mean by virtue of their resemblance to some external reality. (Nyíri 2001: 281) The uses and contexts of pictures, it seems, depend on the when and where of the observer. Are pictures subservient to words? Are words constrained and modified to conjecture about the arrangement of objects in pictures? Pictures transcend logocentric abstraction, in Lacanian terms; uniting the imaginary and symbolic and allowing glimpses of the real before the symbolic takes hold and fragments it. Can we agree with Wittgenstein’s proposition that all facts can be clearly articulated and what we cannot speak about we must ‘pass over in silence’? Surely, the visual allows other avenues for expression – and these are far removed from the mechanics of technical pictures or diagrams of propositions in logic. However, how do we then communicate these expressions without re-interpreting them into language? This is the dilemma; pictures can be a parallel argument and need not be subservient to words, they can be a conduit beyond mere object relations, back to previous or future worlds, real or imagined, but they cannot be easily inserted into traditional research commentaries, as mere illustrations – they have their own autonomy. According to Mitchell, images are always already responsible for two basic types of relation that exist in the world and are practically unavoidable in two crucial ways: intersubjective and inter-objective. In the first case, images serve to instigate communicative action in order to tighten relations between sender and receiver, leading eventually to emotionally charged responses, as in iconoclastic gestures, pornography or other kinds of “undesirable” pictures. In the second case, images serve to establish a representational bond among objects, between images themselves and the objects they represent. Seen in this way, the science of images does not have to deal only with the objects of its enquiry proper but is always itself put under scrutiny by the very objects with which it is striving to come to terms. (Purgar 2017: 1)

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Figure 5.1 ‘Life is a Race’, watercolour, Eric Spencer (c. 1964)

Figure 5.2 ‘The Cockerel’, oil, Eric Spencer (c. 1968)

Before returning to a number of studies of ethnographic analysis I would like to consider two images to highlight the multiple issues of analysis. Images are ways of assimilating the world, and have a central role in how self and others observe and understand that world; the abiding principles we bring to informing the meaning of the world can be condensed in certain pictures. As Purgar notes, intersubjectively, images can be a focal point broadcasting a set of ideas and values to the ‘reader’, triggering emotional reactions, not always as extreme as agit-prop or porn, but sometimes, as in the two examples below, broadcasting a divisive worldview. Inter-objectively, pictures establish connections to referent objects and other images and also between people; under the intertextual eye they affirm relationships which operate in our culture. Pictures can serve as ways of assimilating life’s experiences, and how self and others observe and understand the world. Erwin Panofsky (1939) suggested there are three layers of meaning in any picture. First – the Primary or Natural subject matter: a basic reading of the immediate form of the picture. For example, in Figure 5.1 above, five horses and riders on a flat plane (this is without adding any cultural knowledge or addressing the meanings). Second – Secondary or Conventional subject matter (what Panofsky calls Iconography): taking the basic depiction further we recognise the features of a western horse race and hence that this is a competitive scene. The iconography of the race course is noted: blinkers, whips, jockey’s colours and so on. Third – Tertiary or Intrinsic Meaning or Content (Panofsky terms this Iconology): now we begin to address personal and technical as well as cultural origins, bringing these background ideas to the interpretation of the picture. Here Rose’s Technological and Social modalities and ideas come into play. Our cultural capital and knowledge of the world which links to the objects or codes in the painting. It may then extend and reveal the underlying ‘basic attitude of a nation, a period, a class, a religious, or philosophical persuasion – unconsciously qualified by one personality and condensed into one work’ (Panofsky 1972: 7). Any evidence about the provenance of the image might be useful here. For example, the document below might reveal some intersubjective evidence about the painting:

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198 Visual Research and Social Realities Author’s diary entry, 2nd October 2018 After the funeral we sat looking at Dad’s painting of the horse race. Back in time to 1964, I recalled him sketching this from a newspaper clipping and his light use of watercolours; I remember enjoying the colours and contrasts, the jockey’s caps and the colourful masks holding the blinkers or blinders around the horses’ heads. And even I think, commenting on the horses wildly splaying legs looking funny, but I may have misremembered this. And it is just this that I commented on again that day, the impossible angle and thinness of the second horse’s legs, the others noted other problems; the bulky inelegance of the bodies and weird faces of the horses. A guilty and slightly cruel attack on a picture which I think, now, was never about accurate depiction but about the moment of passionate feverish chase, as he saw it, perhaps, catching up on the competition. Later he had named this painting ‘Life is a Race’. For my father, it might have represented the urgency of catching up in the game of life after a difficult and fractured background, there were so many copies of this basic image, and he even had hundreds of cards produced bearing the same image and title. Here is a painting then, where the accuracy of the drawing and drafting may not be the proper focus. The first ‘look’, where we take in the contours of the items in the picture, may lead to superficial judgements about a lack of realism. But if we take it further, mindful of the second of Panofsky’s stages, and ‘see’ beyond the appurtenances of the lines, to the meanings being conveyed, the theme is the chaotic excitement of the race; ‘going hell for leather’. Finally, we engage with the broader cultural context, in this case what we know of the picture (its title ‘Life is a Race’), and think on the artist’s life and endeavours. This is not a picture in a gallery but a personal statement set above the chair in the kitchen where he sat. Perhaps a sort of talisman conveying the rules by which a life was led. Looking at it over the years, we may have disagreed with the social Darwinist premise we imagined it embodied. It is very possible we misrecognised the reasons for this, and instead concentrated on the shortfall of technical skill in the draughting of the painting. Even amateur painting falls inevitably under the umbrella of ‘art’.This developed set of aesthetic principles which evaluate the offerings of everyday culture could be challenged, and indeed Mitchell’s work seemed a prescient intervention, imagining ‘a change of disciplinary formations in all disciplines within the humanities that felt that the primacy and exclusivity of “pure” or “high” art was giving way before the vernacular visuality of everyday culture’ (Purgar 2017: 6). Perhaps a simple painting like this demonstrates the fault lines between the vernacular material lived-reality of the painter, his/her conditions of production, as it were, and seeing a painting like ‘Life is a Race’ without its assumed title or biographical details, indeed without any context. This is seeing a different picture; a representation without the palimpsest of its origins. Perhaps this is the awkwardness of art and sociology which, as Bourdieu suggested, ‘do not make good bedfellows’ (1993: 139). If art is only reducible to prescribed rules of culture and to nothing more than culture – then there is no sociological way of recognising the value of pictures like my father’s other than, as Pierre Bourdieu suggests, ‘the conviction that good and bad painting exist’. This, he goes on to

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Visual Analysis 199 state, is both ‘the stakes and the motor without which [the field of painting] could not function’ (1980: 266). Another striking image from my father’s early dabbling was the cockerel (c. 1968), a painting probably derived from a postcard of a French expressionist painting. It was one of at least two such depictions, but the only one in oils and in a more opulent, old-fashioned gold frame. As a teenager I can recall that the picture had pride of place above the fireplace in the ‘lounge’. Again, I remember, with a little sadness, my criticism. Because it was painted and displayed with a certain panache and assertiveness – a symbol of what seemed to me, then, like patriarchal arrogance, but which I have come to see as a rather anxious and vulnerable aspirational pride. It is clear that we do not separate our faculties as we look at pictures – often all three levels that Panofsky recognised are part of a simultaneous holistic view. That meaning is often a complex negotiation is obvious, and the social exchange we have about pictures (in this case legacies of family stories and values) presents a way into the intentions behind their creation. In these examples, adding biographical detail to a basic semiotic reading of the obvious features of the images, they become part of a narrative about family relations, a document which operates intersubjectively within the institutional context of family. These observations also demonstrate the fluidity of images and how they may slowly unfold over time. Images may come to symbolise shared or conflicting emotions within the dynamic of family relationships. Certainly, the philosophical meanings of the image (as expressed by Wittgenstein and others) may never be resolved here, but approaching these images as a currency of intersubjective exchange of values might provide valuable ethnographic understanding, which in turn could provide more depth for the understanding of images in context.

Image, Time and Memory Turning now to some photographs, which are, again, part of family history, and offer some insight and reflection both on the nature of photography and approaches to analysis and understanding the image. The specificity and explicitness of photographs has been discussed earlier, and also the links to time and memory. Figure 5.3, the photograph of the desk (c. 1940, Eric Spencer) at Francis Road in Lozzells, Birmingham, where my father began his career in accounting. It’s an image brimming with driven aspirational qualities: the elephant bookends, the doilies, the art deco lamp with its naked nymph-like figure, the piratical toby jug, the ink stand and fountain pen, the heavy accounting tomes, the open ledgers and the empty milk glass; indices of diligent ambition. As Barthes said in Camera Lucida, ‘Every photograph is a certificate of presence’ (1982: 87). And this photograph is carefully arranged, perhaps to present a young man’s intentions of whom he hopes to become, through his endeavours. ‘The photograph possesses an evidential force, and that its testimony bears not on the object but on time. From a phenomenological viewpoint, in the Photograph, the power of authentication exceeds the power of representation’ (ibid.: 88–9). Certainly, in this image there is no doubt of the link with the real place and time – this really was his desk in Birmingham, while working as a clerk and studying accounting and bookkeeping at night school. The photographic disconnect strikes me looking at his desk today; this affect is multiplied by the scraps of narrative learned behind the events, and my lack of knowledge about the photograph. He told us in later years that he hadn’t wanted the war to get in the way of his career in 1939 and 1940. But finally, claimed increasing worry about invasion

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Figure 5.3 Photograph of a desk, Frances Road, Birmingham, Eric Spencer (c. 1948)

and the approach of the call up had focused his mind, and in 1941, at 19, he joined the army, resigned to the likelihood that he would not survive long in combat. Perhaps destiny was stalled, preserved here in this shadowy corner, suspended animation awaiting his return, or perhaps, as he thought likely, an end to his story and no return. But even without the biographical questions, the nature of the photograph itself is ‘without future …’ (ibid.: 90). Barthes comments that: ‘this is its pathos and its melancholy; in it, no protensity,1 whereas the cinema is protensive, hence in no way melancholic (what is it, then? – It is, simply “normal,” like life2). Motionless, the Photograph flows back from presentation to retention’ (ibid.). An enigmatic aura hovers around this second image (Figure 5.4) taken at the end of the war. This image of five soldiers (my father – centre) was taken in Duisburg, Germany, summer 1945. Two of the card players became long-standing family friends, thereafter: ‘uncles’ Ron – holding the ace, and Dan – standing to dad’s right. The sardonic expression of uncle Ron as he discreetly shows his cards lends an air of mystery to the scene, we share the intrigue with an unknown photographer. I can’t see this without remembering dad’s stories of the awful devastation of the town, considered to be the single most heavily bombed German city by the Allies during the Second World War, with industrial areas and residential blocks targeted by Allied incendiary bombs (see Bissonette 2018). Looking at these images now, it is not difficult to see them cloaked in melancholy and mystery. Of those times, people and places, all that remains is the photograph. Forecasts of a career, suspended in that moment, or the Dostoyevskian sense of fatalism in the soldiers playing cards in the ruined city. Partly this atmosphere is a projection of the lack of shared memories; seventy-five years later the narrative weight of these images which never surfaced for discussion, their details remain attenuated; remnants of events which can only be filled by speculation.

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Figure 5.4 Five soldiers playing cards, Duisburg, Germany, 1945 Source: Unknown.

Barthes’ Camera Lucida gives a personal account of the power of photographs, describing the alchemy of time and light transformed within the photographic image. The 1980 work demonstrates a transition to a deeper and more nuanced understanding of the emotive impact of photographs. Willette (2013) argues that Barthes has lost his focus and continuity in Lucida and that there is too much preoccupation with death, commenting that ‘it is the author’s mourning that spills over into the pages’. However, phenomenologically, the photograph is an artefact which recalls and memorialises those people, places and things which are no longer there. As John Berger put it: All photographs are of the past, yet in them, an instant of the past is arrested so that, unlike a lived past, it can never lead to the present. Every photograph presents us with two messages: a message concerning the event photographed and another concerning a shock of discontinuity. (1982: 86) In presenting these personal reflections and images the approach may appear to be part of the indulgent tendency to frame photographs as memento mori, as adding to the lingering discourse of Barthes, Sontag or Benjamin (all of whom have been quoted here) touched with melancholic reflection. However, such images are precious for other reasons than mere memorialising. Sutton rejects this moribund view of the photograph; steering away from the semiotic and moving beyond Deleuzian analysis of the photograph as a ‘mould of space’ when he recognises: ‘The photograph’s collapse of past and present, so often mistaken as morbid, is in fact a glimpse of one’s personal relativity to ongoing totality of duration and, at the same time, to the whole of humanity’ (Sutton 2009: 230). There are many different paths to explore when considering the image, and one needs to be careful not to reproduce ready-made systems of thought and to keep in mind that the

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202 Visual Research and Social Realities image is by its very fluidity hard to pin down. Mitchell made the point in an interview with Purgar that the vision of ontology can be a snare to lead the analyst astray: Wittgenstein noted that “a picture held us captive” inside a certain metaphysics that dreamed of positive knowledge. But like Plato, he did not explain how we could escape that captivity. I suspect that our picture of ontology as a method of getting at true existence by way of philosophical reflection is precisely the prison that holds us captive. That is why I agree with Deleuze that philosophy is better off when it starts with iconology rather than with ontology. (Purgar 2017: 265)

Understanding Forms of Visual Analysis Gathering images for research has been shown to offer great potential for addressing aspects of social life. However, the relationships and narratives which images can display are complex.The boundaries to the image, the choices of subjects, editing, framing, filters, timing, angle, point of view and so on, act as elements in a story or headline. So, even though different audiences will interpret differently, they are viewing a narrative which is already partial, selective, bounded and mediated. So far, the discussion about images and objects and their roles in the circulation and construction of cultural meanings suggests that much of the analytical framing is done in the initial choices about the construction of the image. Sometimes the significance of images emerges in the later stages of the research; as more in-depth analysis proceeds, the relationships within and between images, media and archive documents, fieldwork interviews and other forms of data, begin to become clearer. The discussion below reviews some forms of analysis. There is a focus on forms of semiotic and discourse analysis. These are approaches which expose the underlying ideological bases of texts, their links to institutional systems of power and knowledge and constructions of ‘truth’. Analysis does not start, or stop, at a point in a linear research sequence. The process of research is necessarily self-referential; much analysis begins with the ideas and beliefs which underpin the approach, shaped by the question and the research strategy chosen. The opening analyses of paintings and photographs highlight the different levels of analysis possible. There is the obvious surface of the image, then the deeper examination of implicit socio-cultural meanings, the play of intertextual claims on the specific text. But also, the intersubjective nature of our interpretations within a circle of family, friends or associates, and then broader societal discourses which are also our own internalised frames of reference, sometimes clashing, sometimes complementary, perhaps depending on our social and political beliefs and identity, what has been called ‘positionality’. The discussion will now focus on one main research area which vividly illustrates the interlocking forms of analysis. This is the representation of indigenous Australians in northern Australia; in particular it is centred around a small piece of action research undertaken in Darwin over fifteen years ago. However, the situation is ongoing and the core issues appear to show little change. Using this as the central case with one or two other examples in places, the value of a mixed methods approach to analysis will become clear, highlighting the use of: semiotic analysis, of multimodal documents, and the movement between the fine-grained analysis of the internal semiotic systems of images and text – and

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Visual Analysis 203 the broader framework of their political meanings and consequences, in discourse analysis and Barthesian myth, and demonstrating how culturally embedded meaning systems and discursive movements are marked out by historical documents. Finally, a discussion of content analysis and digital tools will complete the chapter.

Semiotic Analysis Semiotic analysis has gained a rather unfair reputation as being arcane and overintellectualised, or rigidly formulaic and abstract. But in terms of an approach to stepping back and examining the way any ‘text’ is produced from conventional codes, semiotics has a lot to recommend it. From discussion in the previous chapters, it is clear that meaning is a complex interplay of potential choices; how the chosen elements are arranged and interact relative to their position and the limitations of ‘available discourses’ which tend to shape these processes. Semiotics focuses upon the system of signs which are drawn from a culture’s semiosphere and encoded into messages, whether these are visual, verbal, spatial, indeed any medium through which signs can be conveyed (intentionally or not), from architecture to body language, interior design or the vast array of social media applications. Of course, the absence of signs, ‘the unsaid or unseen’, can be more meaningful than a plethora of communicative signs. Where signs are recognised and can be interpreted as part of conventional codes, semiotics can offer a way forward. Meaning is relational; codes operate by relative position of the elements within them. In this way Ricoeur’s concept of the ‘hermeneutic circle’ demonstrates how meaning and understanding depend on an interlocking circle of cultural premises which we accept when we begin to decode or interpret signs: the meaning of a word can only be understood by knowing the meaning of the sentence of which it is a part, yet the sentence’s meaning depends on both that of the word and the text in which it is situated, which both illuminate and are illuminated by the historical and cultural context of the author and reader, and vice versa. We must enter in at some point on the circle, that is “believe” in it, in order to understand the rest and eventually the whole. (Ricoeur 1974: 289) The rationale behind semiotics is that language and other sign systems are arbitrary, conventional codes. Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure demonstrated that the sign had a duality, it was composed of both a ‘signifier’ – the (sensory) form which the sign takes (word, image, smoke signal, etc.) – and the ‘signified’– the meaning or the concept the signifier represents. Diagram 5.1 gives a simple demonstration of the semiotic process by which news headlines could be analysed. Every ‘text’ is a combination of structured elements drawn from a field of choices and put together in a specific order.These ‘choices’ and ‘chains’ can be seen in the composition of imagery in popular culture just as they can be recognised in the language of news stories or advertising. The choices (paradigms) made in communication and the chains (syntagms) in which they are sequenced can be analysed and the ideological content can be more easily recognised. Kress and Hodge (1979) show that surface structures of language have undergone transformations from a deep structure form in which the facts of an event are set out in terms of the straightforward actions which took place. For example, the sentence ‘The police shot dead five demonstrators’ might convey the basic facts of an event; however, after processing through

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Diagram 5.1 Paradigms and syntagms

journalistic filters and political toning this may be rendered as ‘five die in riot’. Not only has the agent been deleted and the syntax been changed to passivise the event, but the word ‘riot’ is used which has an inbuilt negative connotation of civil unrest and disorder. This makes the reading of their deaths almost acceptable as we might now view them as active participants in a violent affray. So, every word chosen in the resulting sequence indicates a choice (either conscious, as in propaganda, or less so, in the nature of professional codes of practice which become internalised and second nature).

Paradigms and Syntagms It is clear that choice of lexical items produces major shifts in the meaning. TV news is produced by selecting and arranging items, determining focus on certain people, places, events and not others. A violent police charge on a peaceful protest may be ignored, while the outraged response and counter-attack may be the sequence that is broadcast and emphasised. Choices will be made depending on the position on the political spectrum and the internalised journalistic codes about the tone expected on the channel in question. De Saussure organised signs into codes, within which elements are chosen and combined in a sequence. The dimensions of paradigms and syntagms are often presented as axes, where the vertical axis is paradigmatic and the horizontal axis syntagmatic. Paradigms are the choices made from a lexicon or cultural repertoire: words, images or other sign vehicles. Syntagms are the sequences which are put together from these elements, giving a sentence, a video sequence, a dance or a stand-up comedy routine. A photograph is a syntagm, in that it is the result of a combination of choices (angles, lighting, framing, timing – shutter speed, effects, etc.) coming together synchronously. The examples above are linguistic but it is not difficult to envisage how the scenario could equally be scripted for a video piece or a series of photographs. Note how successive transformations in the

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Visual Analysis 205 four examples (passivisation, agent deletion and deletion of active verb) completely alter the possible reading of the event. Kress and Hodge (1979: 15) define ‘ideology’ thus: ‘ideology involves a systematically organised presentation of reality’. They argue that we must describe the truth and show how an ideology reorders the presentation to expose its operation. They offer several examples of this strategic ordering of words: ‘Demonstrators confront police’, or ‘Police confront demonstrators’. The choice indicates a clear preference for and interpretation of events. The choice of the question ‘Has the garbage been emptied?’ leads to the angry retort: ‘You know bloody well I’ve been out all day – how could I have emptied it?’ The first statement strategically changes the direct question ‘Have you emptied the garbage?’ to a more euphemistic form in order to try and influence the person without exposing the intention. Kress and Hodge also show how the process of ‘nominalisation’ disguises the agency of the original: ‘strikers picket the factory’ becomes ‘picketing’. The use of emotionally toned words can change the perceived meaning dramatically (e.g. ‘five terror suspects die in street battle with police’). The implication of this set of words is markedly different and may appear to justify the death of the five (even though they were only suspected of terrorism). Fiske (1982: 62) argues that ‘the meaning of what was chosen is determined by the meaning of what was not’. The choice of paradigms is based on factors such as code, connotation and style. Film and video present an apparently immediate and direct portrayal of an event. It is harder to break down the events, and take that critical distance. But similarly, the ‘language’ of the camera work can be broken down to paradigms (choices) and the resulting syntagms (chains). As discussed earlier, the narratives which are commonly and repetitively played will eventually achieve some internalised effects on some audience members. This cognitive effect, as discussed in Chapter 2, has much greater impact when there are few sources of information available other than the news channels. It is recognised that many news stories, especially during times of war, appear to radically simplify the issues. Bob Franklin, discussing media coverage of war, made the comment: There’s a very famous book written in this area, by a very distinguished journalist called Philip Knightley, and it’s called ‘Truth: The First Casualty’, and it’s a history of war reporting. I don’t think truth is the first casualty, it’s complexity. And what happens as soon as war starts, it’s no longer permissible to hold any objection to war. (Spencer, unpublished interview with Prof. Bob Franklin, 2004) The elements in a picture can be manipulated to project a particular reading. Police can be portrayed sympathetically or as brutal enforcers of unjust laws; protesters can be presented as ordinary people exercising their right to make a public protest or as violent radicals intent on causing damage. In times of war, the ‘enemy’ demonised and atrocities are the focus. The problem is that the social reality of wars or mass demonstrations (like most situations) is complex, and there may be a choice to selectively portray the event from what appears to be one point of view or another quite opposed view. This issue of point of view and the ease with which images can be manipulated to give a ‘preferred reading’ was illustrated in Chapter 1.The power of semiotic approaches is that they offer ways of exposing the choices and transformations which have led to the particular surface text we are confronted with. However, semiotics is criticised as being prone to forms of hyper-positivism at one extreme and elitist subjectivism at the other. To avoid these excesses, it is important to pursue a semiotic approach grounded in evidence of

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206 Visual Research and Social Realities material social phenomena. Semiotic analyses might uncover something of the intentional arrangement of an image, the manipulation of conventional codes privileging a certain ‘reading’ of the image, but can all of the elements in an image be reduced to these codes and categories, or is there more going on within the image?

Denotation and Connotation It is useful to recognise two levels of signification or meaning. Denotation is a literal surface meaning, the immediate, obvious or common-sense look of the image, whereas connotation implies the legacy of meanings within a specific culture. In practice we see these simultaneously. Roland Barthes adopted the idea of different orders of signification (originally devised by linguist Louis Hjelmslev: see Chandler 1994). In this schema, denotation is the first order of signification, and, building on the basic denotative sign, connotation is a second order of signification level above this – attaching an additional signified. For example, I showed my students an image of a famous perfume advert from the 1960s. It featured a black and white image of a woman’s face direct and symmetrical with the superimposed image of the product, a square bottle, and the brand name CHANEL No 5. The point is that these signifiers are simple enough and can be easily understood in terms of their immediate denotative meanings. However, at the second level of signification the poetics of the components come together and create a more complex connotative meaning, working through the implicit cultural values with which we associate the image. For my students who were born in the twenty-first century the cultural inferences associated with this classic advertising campaign were partly obscured. This was an iconic 1960s French actor and model, Catherine Deneuve, well known for her role in countless avant-garde and romantic films. Her symmetrical, classical image was echoed in the lettering and the shape of the bottle and, to my generation perhaps, imbues the product with certain attributes: sophistication, glamour and classical beauty. This use of celebrities is at the heart of much advertising, but its effectiveness depends on the right fit; an audience must accept the connoted attributes associated with the actor, musician or sporting figure, and see these as reflecting positively on the product or service. ‘The Rude Inelegance of Poverty Reigns Here Alone’ When effective, semiotic analyses reveal this interplay between elements and levels of meaning. For example, the use of images is often a way in which loaded messages can be made to appear natural or innocent. In the following example, the author, Sir John Hammerton (1933), used the images of rural Irish life (labelled ‘The Rude Inelegance of Poverty Reigns Here Alone’), fitting the rural Irish into a typology which affirms a dominant, ethnocentric ideology about the Irish, and alluding to racial hierarchies. First, the chosen text (part of an encyclopaedia of world peoples) tends to remove broader contextual markers which give social and historical context to the scenes. Hammerton’s analysis is ahistorical and ignores the centuries of colonial rule, military oppression and war, land clearances and emigration, resultant grinding poverty, famine, overcrowding and unemployment. Instead Hammerton’s approach suggests that the features of the Irish poor can be taken at ‘face value’ as timeless truths. He also makes comparison between ‘types’ of Irish person and poverty:

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Figure 5.5 Mother and son. Images of Irish poverty Source: J. Hammerton (c. 1933), ‘The Rude Inelegance of Poverty Reigns Here Alone’.

Figure 5.6 Woman from Connemara Source: J. Hammerton (c. 1933), ‘The Rude Inelegance of Poverty Reigns Here Alone’.

The aged Irish mother in the photograph left, sits outside the low-roofed cabin where she has spent most of her life, and beside her sits her long-limbed son. There is a dignity and beauty about her wrinkled face and she faces the world contentedly. A less pleasing specimen of the Irish peasantry is seen right. This woman’s home is one of the poorest cabins in Connemara.They are entirely lacking in home comforts. Only the peat fire is never missing, with, hanging over it, the iron pot in which the potatoes and the water are boiled. (Hammerton 1933: 793) These images of poverty and otherness demonstrate how, as Barthes (1984: 430) puts it, the denotative level ‘prepares and facilitates’ our reading of the connotative level. In this case the narrative presented draws a distinction between pleasing (almost aesthetically acceptable) discourse of poverty and the ‘less pleasing specimen’.There are implicitly racist meanings in this comparison. A series of ‘available discourses’ are at work limiting what can be communicated about the Irish – just as there are available discourses on marginalised groups like Aborigines (see Muecke 1982). These shape a reading of the image and the denotative evidence of the image appears to make such readings more innocent. In his writings, for example ‘The Rhetoric of the Image’ (1984), Barthes argues that the denotative level appears to be the overt, obvious or literal depiction. In photography,

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208 Visual Research and Social Realities denotation is foregrounded at the expense of connotation. The photographic signifier seems to be virtually identical with its signified, and the photograph appears to be a ‘natural sign’ produced without the intervention of a code (Hall 1980 132). Barthes initially argued that only at a level higher than the ‘literal’ level of denotation, could a code be identified – that of connotation … (Chandler 1994) These images of poverty in Ireland then denotatively prepare the reader for Hammerton’s characterisation of the Irish as innocent descriptions. However, as Barthes’ thinking progressed, writing in S/Z in 1974, he asserted: denotation is not the first meaning, but pretends to be so; under this illusion, it is ultimately no more than the last of the connotations (the one which seems both to establish and close the reading), the superior myth by which the text pretends to return to the nature of language, to language as nature. (Barthes 1974b: 9) It then becomes apparent that: Connotation, in short, produces the illusion of denotation, the illusion of language as transparent and of the signifier and the signified as being identical.Thus, denotation is just another connotation. From such a perspective denotation can be seen as no more of a ‘natural’ meaning than is connotation but rather as a process of naturalization. Such a process leads to the powerful illusion that denotation is a purely literal and universal meaning which is not at all ideological, and indeed that those connotations which seem most obvious to individual interpreters are just as ‘natural’. (Chandler 1994) Thus, the manner in which the image is produced epitomises the dominant discourses about Irish people affirming centuries of colonial attitudes, and the interplay of photograph and text appears simply as a natural description. As Fiske puts it, ‘denotation is what is photographed, connotation is how it is photographed’ (Fiske 1982: 91). This hidden construction of meaning demonstrates the persuasive, authoritative power of photography. Hence the imagery, in the example above, is heavily constructed to typify the narrow stereotypical views of national identity echoed in the text. Effectively, the interplay of visual and verbal signs is ‘innocented’ by the apparent denotative simple veracity of the photographic image. This example demonstrates that it is valuable to make comparative analyses in order to strengthen the discussion of contrasting signs and highlight the processes which have been manipulated to construct meaning and restrict the possible readings or foreground ‘desirable’ ones. And in contrast to the Hammerton portrayals, the image below (Figure 5.7) is at once specific and political, there is a story behind the picture, a story of war, famine and exploitation, no absence of historical context accompanies this trenchant human portrait. These images stem from a very different world which had not yet experienced the melancholy of the end of empire, or the horror and global devastation of the Second World War; the representation of otherness and paternalism and overt racism appears embedded and unchallenged.

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Figure 5.7 ‘Three generations of a family pose beside their “home” at Alexander Street, Waterford’ (Saturday, 2 February 1924) Source: National Library of Ireland.

Many of Hammerton’s images of people around the world, including these scenes of rural poverty, could be considered ‘mythic’ in Barthesian terms. Myth operates at a third level of signification. It begins with the connotative meaning and projects this, disguising the circumstances and context which produce the conditions, presenting these as emblems of eternalised Irishness. Indeed, as Price suggests, this type of rhetoric is particularly common when issues of nationalism are being communicated: myth has an important role within ideas of nation, where it is an essential part of cultural meaning and maintenance. Foundations of national ideas and values are established through myth and highlight what is considered natural and accepted or alien and excluded within a culture. These continuous narratives are embedded with various rituals and symbols leading to a collective discourse. (Price 2010: 453) The next section will highlight the operation of myth and how imagery can be used to persuasive effect to inoculate and naturalise cultural ideas.

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Operation Margarine Images reveal their secrets as part of a broader research process, and the dictum that they can be interpreted as they stand is fallible, as all interpretation is dependent on understanding and reviewing the codes through which the image has been constructed and positioned, historically, socially and culturally. The advert shown in Figure 5.8 for the Australian Advertising Industry Council appeared in The Australian newspaper in the early 1980s. This newsprint ad is supporting the institution of advertising. It suggests that our relative affluence and amount of consumer choice is directly related to the commercial activity of advertisers. The text underneath informs us: And they don’t have all those boring, repetitive commercials interrupting their favourite programmes. And they don’t have all those different newspapers, magazines, television and radio stations bombarding them with information. And they don’t have all those unnecessary products taking up valuable space in their homes. No. In some countries they’ve got nothing to complain about. Advertising.You’d probably notice it more if it wasn’t there. (text of full-page ad. in The Australian newspaper, c. 1983) How might an image like this be interpreted semiotically? There are several basic procedures, which examine the image in terms of its combined elements (syntagms) and the choices that are made in each of its constituent elements (paradigms). First, it is important to recognise the context. In this case a daily national broadsheet newspaper circa 1983. The Australian (conservative Murdoch flagship). Source of advert: Australian Advertising Industry Council. Many adverts address inherent problems with the product, e.g., the tobacco industry used to look for strategies to nullify the growing knowledge of the deadly effects of smoking. Today, alcohol, gambling and fast-food advertising are at pains to deal with the claims made about their products as addictive or ruinous to good health. Chapman and Egger (1983) contend that advertisements have a mythical dimension, supplanting traditional myths with more oblique mythologies. However, the motifs used in ads, while they may share qualities with classical traditions of myth and folklore, also essentially operate to objectify emotion: ‘Language symbolically objectifies sense-perception, and myth is developed in order to objectify emotion’ (Chapman and Egger 1983: 170). In the above ad the problem is a long recognised one; as a 2019 New York Times article bluntly stated: ‘The Advertising Industry Has a Problem: People Hate Ads’. This is particularly true when they are badly made and repetitive, especially the online pop-up ads. The strategy then is to find an approach which will create a mythical resolution. A semiotic analysis might begin by using a number of attributes (the ones below are suggested by Chandler 1994 in his DIY Semiotic Analysis). 1. Begin by examining the obvious textual features – this is the level of Denotation. In this example the image is a grainy black and white photograph. The arrangement of

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Figure 5.8 ‘In some countries …’: advert from Australian Advertising Industry Council, The Australian newspaper, 1983 Source: Saatchi & Saatchi for the Newspaper Advertising Bureau.

Diagram 5.2 Binary oppositions in the text

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2.

3. 4.

5.

the scene shows stark lighting and protective body language of the family creating a sense of insecurity and vulnerability.This prepares us for the level of Connotation – the legacy of implicit encoded socio-cultural meanings. Our reading of the scene will depend on our repertoire of intertextual references (e.g. the bare, unshaded light bulb, minimalist décor, choice of realist font (Courier)). These features recall other genres and other uses of the same visual codes. They are the visual tropes which emotionally tone the meanings of the image. Anchorage of text and image: what is the effect of the linguistic and visual elements together? (i.e. in this case, the reportage style suggests this is a news story ‘from the front line’ with connotations of hard-hitting, gritty realism). Level of connotation: ‘some countries’, clearly not our country, Australia. The text and image together suggest that without advertising there is no choice. There are also clearly ‘cold war’ associations, particularly at the time this paper was printed; consider the cheerless and repressive conditions often alluded to in film, TV, literature, in Eastern bloc countries.An underlying message could therefore be read as:‘Advertising, capitalism and free market economy give choice and freedom.’ Binary oppositions in the text: one useful approach is to consider the binary opposites implicit in such adverts.The list above goes from the obvious visual ones to the more abstract assumptions on which the concept of the ad depends.

Faced with this stark image, the implications are clear: western lifestyles come with a price tag. In some ways we could argue that this advertisement is a plea for capitalism itself. The bleak alternative suggested by the ad’s reference to ‘some countries’ is clearly a reference to the Soviet bloc. The grainy black and white image, the huddled family group, the absence of adornment and the iconic use of the bare bulb, the pairing of the image with the Courier script used for the text, all deliver the impression of vulnerability and realism. The suggestion is that capitalism and the nuisance of advertising and commercial activity by which it is underpinned, are the necessary mechanisms by which our lives are enriched by product choices and diversity of information. The alternative is unthinkably stark, a Spartan existence symbolised by this image: a life devoid of luxuries, of excess, a life where ‘utility’ alone is important and ‘brand identity’ has no place. Also, it appears that the eye of an Orwellian state is constantly over-seeing even in the intimate zone of the home. The same structure of argument is illustrated in Barthes’ essay entitled ‘Operation Margarine’ (1984). To introduce this concept, he states: ‘To instil into the Established Order the complacent portrayal of its drawbacks has nowadays become a paradoxical but incontrovertible means of exalting it’ (1984: 41). Barthes recognises that this inoculation against consumer culture comes in many forms, but margarine in this essay is the paradigm example: It is found in the publicity for Astra margarine. The episode always begins with a cry of indignation against margarine. ‘A mousse? Made with margarine? Unthinkable!’ ‘Margarine? Your uncle will be furious!’ And then one’s eyes are opened, one’s conscience becomes more pliable, and margarine is a delicious food, tasty, digestible, economical, useful in all circumstances. The moral at the end is well known: ‘Here you are, rid of a prejudice which cost you dearly!’ (ibid.)

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Visual Analysis 213 Capitalism and advertising are presented in just the same way here.We have the luxury of our prejudices about advertising – but the alternative would be nothing to complain about because there would be no choice of products at all. The apparently reasonable, non-coercive nature of marketing, providing choice and upholding the ethos of a free market economy away from state control, was generated by and helped to rationalise the capitalist orthodoxy in the post-war era. These images of the limitless abundance of capitalist production were a strong ideological weapon during the cold war years. The Soviet state was frequently represented as one in which choice was not permitted. Indeed, the yearning for the forbidden fruits of capitalism is often cited as a key element in the undermining of communism – the so-called ‘velvet revolutions’ in Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Poland. If I think about the advantages of Western democracy, I come up with one word – hope. Communism ground up people with ideology that did not allow a different view; with its equalization, its stupidity, and especially in the initial phase, its brutality. A liberal society brainwashes people in a more refined way – the myth of success, the diktat of consumerism. Communism was about life without hope. An open society provides an escape route. It is not so little, what democracy brings. (Mejstrik 1999) Mejstrik reminds us that western democracy (despite our concerns about the perpetuation of the hallowed myths of success and consumerism which keep us in thrall) is preferable to the grinding despair of Soviet communism. This analysis of the image and language in the Australian Advertising Industry Council advert operates at another level of signification which Barthes has called myth. The elements discussed above could be argued to combine to create a sign which in turn is the signifier in a higher order of signification above connotation – that of myth. The terms in the first system at the level of coded elements in a language transform into a metalanguage (see the Glossary for a more detailed discussion of myth). While analysis shows this advertisement is inherently political and draws on crude stereotypes, like most myth, as Barthes (1974a: 143) argues, it is functional: ‘myth has the task of giving a historical intention a natural justification, and making contingency appear eternal’. This naturalisation of capitalist drives demonstrates the similarity to false consciousness. It is thus important to expose the historical and political context in which the myth is presented as universal. Arguably, in this case the sharp contrast that could once be drawn between western culture and the eastern bloc countries is no longer possible, yet neither is such an ad necessary; if living alternatives are not available, the question no longer has a locus. Perhaps the ‘vaccination’ is no longer needed – we are all immune now to the call of other ways of being, because the alternatives have been subsumed within the central consumerist framework of society. The advert serves to signify this other sign: the unrivalled triumph of a capitalist system and the demise of the ‘deluded’ system which sought to challenge the desires of consumer society, with the embedded inequalities this inevitably entails. In terms of cold war politics, myths like this played a significant role in positioning the reader within narratives which affirm national ideals and present negative or threatening images of other national worldviews.

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Forms of Discourse Analysis Drawing on similar but distinctively different theoretical roots, discourse analysis can also be applied to imagery like the above advertisement. Stuart Hall succinctly differentiates the semiotic and discursive modes of analysis, thus: ‘The semiotic approach is concerned with the how of representation, with how language produces meaning – what has been called its “poetics”; whereas the discursive approach is more concerned with the effects and consequences of representation – its “politics”’ (1997: 6). This suggests that the two approaches can be complementary and reflects some of the schemes already suggested, moving from the specific codes and signs within the frame of the image and text outward to the broad social-historical and political processes and structures which have generated this particular manifestation. Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) envisages this relationship in a useful way, enabling the researcher to place the image, document, artefact or object within a series of frames; allowing us to consider the forces which have been in play behind the construction. In the above model, adapted from Fairclough (1995), the processes of text production and consumption are framed within ‘discourse practice’. As we have seen, texts are produced as the manifestations of dominant (‘available’) discourses. Indeed, any of the visual examples given in this chapter could be considered as framed in this way. At a particular point in time different discursive structures shape the prevalent images of our society.These discursive practices are, in turn, framed within the broader bounds of sociocultural processes, linking historically to the way lived practices have evolved. In the above example (Figure 5.9), a controversial headline ‘GO HOME’ accompanies an image of Aboriginal men drinking in public.This text is produced in the local framework of prevalent discourses about homeless Aborigines’ presence in the city centre, and their potential disruption of lucrative tourist markets. It has been argued effectively that CDA is only what people do for themselves without recourse to complex models and linguistic-based analyses (see Jones, P. 2007). It is probably the case that people have a refined capacity to make such analyses without complex models, particularly when it comes to discriminating between uses of language. However, when it comes to imagery and the implicit iconic and indexical power of the photograph, perhaps it is useful to be able to gain some psychic distance by setting out how the item is framed and generated, at the very least as a means of remembering we cannot take it at face value. As already discussed, with a social semiotic approach the elements that compose the text are broken down into codes and their implicit meanings are revealed, but the analysis is grounded in the social-historical context in which such texts are produced. In semiotics it is the internal ‘poetics’ which is the concern. However, to go further one needs to recognise the institutional and historical formation of these signs, in other words to address the political consequences of the texts (very much the approach advocated by Dorothy Smith using institutional texts to link individual identity into broader social discourses). The problem with discourse analysis is that there are a baffling number of different forms covering a broad canon of thought about language, power, structure, agency and social context, and all come with a legacy of particular schools of thought. Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), for example, as articulated by Fairclough (1995), has a focus on

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Figure 5.9 ‘Go Home’: front page, Northern Territory News, 2003 Source: With permission licence from Newspix.

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Diagram 5.3 Table adapted from Fairclough’s model of CDA (1995)

language use as a social practice; it happens in context, in institutions and within structures which condition and shape how it is articulated. For Fairclough, the processes of text production and consumption include institutional routines and editorial procedures, and how texts are consumed fitting around household routines (e.g. TV is watched at certain times by different people fitted around their work and family times). Discourse processes are also meant in the narrower sense of the transformations which texts go through in production and consumption. Discourse practice, then, for Fairclough, is seen as mediating between textual and social/cultural practice. These frames of reference provide a useful approach for thinking about how the image has been constructed in the wider spheres of the culture. In the example in Figure 5.9, a tabloid front page from Darwin, the images and words in this artefact have been produced and circulated as a result of sociocultural and historical practices which serve to position Aboriginal people as others who are out of place. Given the historical displacement of Aboriginal people by colonisation and genocidal removal from their lands, the message in the headline is enormously ironic. The pivotal use of the word ‘home’ seems to deny the stark history of dispossession and colonialism. The harsh sense of the headline is slightly modified by the refusal to address the subjects as ‘Aborigines’. Instead, ‘they’ are ‘itinerants’ – and they have been told to go home by ‘their own people’. To trace the genealogy of certain influential discourses, it is necessary to recognise the way in which social relations are constituted, looking carefully at the two outer frames of Fairclough’s model. When examining institutions and their shaping and controlling of knowledge, people’s lives and their very bodies, it is considered by some that power is always a vestige of direct coercive power. Foucault suggests that power has materiality. It’s not a matter of there being a form of power which derives from force, coercion and violence and the antithesis of that is some sort of ideological perception of power. The idea that the truth can be revealed by systematically exposing the distortions and lies and ideologies of the state is for Foucault a lost cause. ‘The state is superstructural in relation

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Visual Analysis 217 to a whole series of power networks that invest the body, sexuality, the family, kinship, knowledge, technology and so forth’ (Foucault 1980: 122). Discourse in Foucault’s conception is the web of correspondences through which power is constituted, a radical departure from the notion of power as a possession installed and wielded by (for example) an all-powerful authoritarian state. Foucault instead recognised power as the result of the association of various disciplinary practices and knowledges and resistances to these.There are various forms of power; some of those crystallise and accrue to institutions. Discourse, as defined by Foucault, refers to: ways of constituting knowledge, together with the social practices, forms of subjectivity and power relations which inhere in such knowledges and relations between them. Discourses are more than ways of thinking and producing meaning.They constitute the ‘nature’ of the body, unconscious and conscious mind and emotional life of the subjects they seek to govern. (Weedon 1987: 108) Foucault’s analyses demonstrate the consequences of this historical movement of discourse in several classic studies tracing the origins of: the asylum (Madness and Civilization), the prison and regimes of punishment, incarceration and surveillance (Discipline and Punish), and the different social formations around sexualities (History of Sexuality I, II, III). In this sense, discourses are those broad patterns of institutional thought, or as Foucault suggested, ‘regimes of truth’ which define and limit what can be said about a specific topic. In addition to this institutional ‘apparatus’, discourse is also articulated through finely detailed ‘technologies’; the practical manifestations of these conceptions of power/ knowledge. Coming back to Figure 5.9, the headline, and many others like it, is the culmination of ‘regimes of truth’ developed to see other peoples as inferior, as not fully human, and hence the need for civil society to banish them from colonised lands. Thus, although these racist origins are highly contested or flatly denied, they do demonstrate a historical continuity. The discursive (and actual) desire to remove Aboriginal people is reflected in the construction of this page. Even the term ‘Aborigine’ is avoided in favour of the ambiguous term ‘itinerant’. Steven Muecke (1982), following French linguist and philosopher Michel Pecheux, takes discourse (or discursive processes) as the underlying source which is manifest in the space of language, the grammar and syntactic forms of texts, institutional documents. From the implicit constraints apparent in the language used about ‘the other’ we can see the discourses operating through institutional frameworks. In many documents, postcards, videos, books, posters, artwork, news stories, politicians’ press releases, or Twitter announcements, Aboriginal people are frequently lumped together as one undifferentiated group and positioned as ‘them’. The language displayed typically conforms to Muecke’s ‘available discourses’. He identified the romantic, literary, anthropological and racist discourses as the narrow frame through which white Australians perceive and address Aborigines (Muecke 1982).The tourist discourse is perhaps a variant of the romantic and does not wish to countenance impoverished urban Aborigines drinking in a local park. This news story displays a refusal to address humanitarian concerns of homeless displaced Aboriginal people in the city, and the ‘itinerant’ term continues to surface from time to time, e.g. Northern Territory Chief Minister Adam Giles ‘urged itinerant people from remote communities who get drunk and cause trouble in Darwin to “piss off ” back home’

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218 Visual Research and Social Realities (22 March 2016, ww.abc.net.au/news/2016–03). And, again, a headline in the Northern Territory News: ‘Darwin “wet camp” for itinerants could be established by next dry season’ (7 May 2021). Again, the issue of drinking and regulation is constantly revisited as a moral panic for this visible minority for whom alcohol is a seriously injurious social issue. The conflation of a serious epidemic of alcohol-related medical issues for marginalised Aboriginal people with derogatory stereotypes of indigenous people as static, romanticised, passive and criminalised, is the result of discursive processes which have long historical roots. Of course, neither semiotic, nor discourse, analysis is chasing an underlying truth. Such an idea is deeply problematic – whose truth and why that one? We can, however, make tentative knowledge claims and show which meanings are being foregrounded and the strands of discourse which enable their formation. Such an approach might at least allow a more critical response to essentialist and common-sense assertions about the nature of social reality, and in particular show the way that visual ‘technologies’ serve the practices of power/knowledge articulated through institutions and the discourses which constitute them. Discourses seem to have the eerie ability to breathe life into subjects, constructing them through a matrix of associations of power/knowledge. So, to understand the origins of the text in question, it is important to look further back at the flow of popular discourse, which often shows some remarkable consistencies.Visually there are many precedents to the Northern Territory News stories.

Using Archive Images Most social phenomena can be traced back and the fracture lines of inequalities and social and historical patterns of discrimination recognised in records. For example, the gross stereotypes which have become embedded in the language and cultural imaginary often have older roots. When researching the socio-cultural and political rift in post-colonial Guyana, it became apparent that these had been fostered as part of a divide and rule strategy to keep slaves and indentured workers in a state of antagonism and mutual contempt, the better to avoid a united front against the exploitative plantocracy (see Spencer 2006). Such tracing does not always include vivid visual examples, but these can further enhance the argument where they exist. Observing the unique situation in Darwin, which has the highest proportion of Aboriginal people per capita in Australia, but like other states and territories shows a stark division between the demographics of white Australians and Aboriginal groups in terms of health, housing, employment, education, rates of incarceration, and life expectancy,3 the question arises how such a shamefully inequitable situation has arisen and can be allowed to persist. But there is little doubt about the causes, which are well documented: The history of Indigenous people in Australia over the last two hundred years since the arrival of Europeans is one of great suffering. Genocide, the introduction of European diseases, dispossession, subjugation and segregation reduced the Indigenous population by 90% between 1788 and 1900. A conservative estimate indicates that prior to European contact there were approximately 15,000 Indigenous Australians living in the state of Victoria; that number was reduced to approximately 850 by 1901. (Markwick et al. 2019) The nineteenth-century caricature shown in Figure 5.10 depicts Aborigines as ‘noble savages’ in ‘NATURE’ – a bush setting – or rendered as dissolute parodies of white

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Figure 5.10 ‘Nature/Civilisation’, Queensland Figaro, 6 August 1887 Source: With permission of Ross Woodrow, Griffith University, Queensland.

Figure 5.11 ‘Amongst the Queensland Blacks’, Queensland Figaro, 10 December 1887 Source: Courtesy of Ross Woodrow.

respectability by ‘CIVILISATION’. In many ways the image of the Rousseauian ‘noble savage’ is still prevalent and contrasts sharply with the true urban condition of many Aborigines. Such imagery proved instructive for understanding the conditions under which Aboriginal people live today and the prejudiced attitudes which still exist about them. The caricature is from an 1887 edition of the Queensland Figaro and could be considered a homily about the nature of indigenous people. The condition of indigenous people at this time was evidently one of dispersal and separation from kinship groups, loss of land and the ability to provide through hunting and fishing as trees were felled and ground was levelled for pasture and stock. The actual situation for many indigenous people then was of slavery or at best bonded labour; this was the case especially in more remote settlements.‘Aborigines commonly regarded by whites as ferea natura, “vermin to be trampled on”, or if conceded to be human, “little above the level of a working animal”, were placed like pariahs beneath contempt – at the nadir of any scale of honour’ (Saunders 1984: 202). The ability of white Australians to take the moral high ground in these portraits of apparently destitute ‘modern Aborigines’ is cruelly apparent. However, institutionally and legally, Aboriginal people were prevented from any upliftment (by European standards). When the Aborigines Protection and Restriction of the Sale of Opium Bill was reviewed in 1897: A clause allowing blacks to purchase land was peremptorily deleted. As Patterson points out in defining the legal form of slavery: “It is not because the slave becomes a form or object of property relations, but because he is denied all possibility of being a subject of property relations, a proprietor, that property is so important in the transformation of slavery”. (Saunders 1984: 200) Thus, the image by itself reveals some, but not by any means all, of the discursive apparatus through which Aboriginality has been constructed. We might, at face value, examine the image in terms of the operation of binary terms which are embedded in the culture.

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220 Visual Research and Social Realities Lévi-Strauss and, more recently, media analyst and critic John Fiske (e.g. 1987) have demonstrated that western culture, and indeed all cultures, divide the array of cultural phenomena in this way. Here the divide between NATURE and CIVILISATION creates a diptych and further binaries are suggested: country/city, naked/clothed, healthy/ sick, sober/intoxicated, noble/ignoble. Intertextually it could be seen as reminiscent of William Hogarth’s eighteenth-century moral allegory, Beer Street and Gin Lane, and also loaded with mythical values about the Australian bush and Aboriginal connections with it. However, a closer look at the historical records and the legal and social relations between white Australians and indigenous peoples reveals further depth and poignancy to this portrayal. Quoting again from Saunders’s (1984: 203) discussion of the conditions of Aborigines in the colonial period: [I]n most instances, the relentlessness of European reactions overrode any resistance attempts. As A. Turnbull commented from Burketown in 1896, ‘… even now … a rebellious nigger loses the number of his mess [i.e. is killed] in a remarkably short time (and no questions asked).’ Ultimately as the threat of physical death hung continually over the heads of the colonised Aborigines, their situation was reduced to that of a form of social death. ‘For even while their physical lives may have been spared, their social lives in a society which both despised them and fully endorsed the master’s coercive controls were not.’ The relationship between images like this from the 1890s and the tourist and media images prevalent today shows an extraordinary continuity, in the sense that they either romanticise or criminalise, indicating how historical prejudices and colonial fears and beliefs are embedded in the Australian cultural imaginary. The negative effects of alcohol which are notable in the Nature/Civilisation diptych are highlighted more readily in another caricature from the same paper, later in the same year (Figure 5.11). This ugly cartoon depicts a range of crude emotions: joy, sorrow, surprise, fear, pride and envy, in the form of racist stereotypes. A historically degrading (or to say the least negative and belittling) attitude to Aboriginal people is highlighted. It appears that the issue of public drinking has a long history for Aboriginal people. Until 1967 Aboriginal people were not permitted to drink in the city limits. Anthropologist Bill Day (2001) suggests that there is still a sense of drinking as a ‘sacrament’ of citizenship, a thing perhaps that ‘free men’ can do.4 Groves (2002) argues that: Alcohol has been central to Aboriginal-European social relations since occupation. It signifies more than simply another commodity and its use by Aborigines symbolically represents acceptance and inclusion within non-indigenous Australian society (Hunter 1993). By the commencement of the twentieth century, most Aborigines lived on reserves and depended on Europeans for scarce employment (Stanner 1979). (Groves 2002: 2) In Australian culture drinking is very much celebrated. An example of the cultural centrality of alcohol is the annual Beer Can Regatta in Darwin. This is a chance to show ‘purposeful’ drinking; rafts have to be built entirely from hundreds of beer cans which then compete in a series of chaotic ‘fun’ races. This is a celebration of drinking held on Mindil Beach in Fannie Bay, an area which contains a cluster of sacred sites for local Larrakia people.5 The building of the Mindil Beach Casino in the 1980s unearthed

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Visual Analysis 221 human remains and the desecration carries on apace regardless of the land rights recognition of the Larrakia people. Another example of traumascape for Maria Tumarkin: As a traumascape, Mindil Beach is marked by recurring violence, loss and seething disquiet. It is also literally a common ground between the living and the dead – a place which reveals, if only we cared to look, the complexities, obligations and connections between the living and the dead. (2004: 75) Fiske et al. (1987) suggest there is a cultural boundary for white Australians, who see public drinking as threatening: So their drunkenness is more visible and breaks the tacit rule of white drinking; and they get arrested on charges of drunkenness in a vast disproportion to their numbers or even degree of drunkenness and the danger to public order they represent. But the punitive treatment of Aboriginal drinkers in public places serves a double ideological function: it separates them off from full participation and membership of white Australian society (they are ‘dirty drunks’ whereas whites are ‘good boozers’), and it vindicates the magic wall around the pub, which protects white drinkers in their alcoholic anti-society and keeps the subversion and criticism within its safe bounds. (Fiske et al. 1987: 11) Again, the object of this example is to illustrate the use of archival images as well as my own selection of photographs and video stills. These different documents, images, stories and academic analyses, when combined present a very different light on the ‘Go Home’ headline and the motives behind communal drinking, which clearly may have more complex origins and is not only a sign of alienation; it may also represent a willingness to be considered like their non-indigenous Australian counterparts, as full citizens. But while visibility of outdoor drinkers is apparently judged to show a high level of drinking amongst Aborigines, in fact the per capita figure for non-indigenous drinkers is higher. In addition, demographic ‘evidence’ is needed to make sense of images like Figure 5.9.

Figure 5.12 The Beer Can Regatta: inspecting contestants Source: Stills from Spencer 2005.

Figure 5.13 Close-up detail of a boat – Fanny Bay, Darwin, 2005

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222 Visual Research and Social Realities Once again, the extreme poverty of many indigenous Australians contributes to this difference, with consumption location options severely limited by a lack of financial resources. Alcohol prices are significantly dearer in pubs compared to the bottle shops where supplies can be purchased for consumption elsewhere. (Groves 2002) One observation was that while groups of displaced indigenous people were seen frequently in the city environs, the dominant images broadcast to tourists in postcards or documentaries were of people in remote areas of bushland outside of the cities. Evidence (see note 3) shows that over 70 per cent of indigenous people live in or around major cities or towns. These images present a view of Aboriginal people as timeless and unchanged. They usually denote people following traditional cultural practices. Of course, the city has changed in the last fifteen years and, with an increasing mix of different ethnicities, the city of Darwin is aware of the need for, and recognises the demand for, ‘authentic’ indigenous experience and artefacts. The city now celebrates ‘Aboriginal heroes’ in the form of giant murals and portraits: Dominating Austin Lane is The Multidimensional Man, a 29-metre-high portrait of Hilton Garnarradj, a guide from Arnhem Land (a vast wilderness east of Darwin). Directly opposite is a painting of Dr G Yunupingu (known as Gurrumul when he was alive), a blind singer from Arnhem Land’s Elcho Island who became famous around the world for his ethereal vocals in his native language. On West Lane, a five-minute walk from Austin Lane, you can find a seven-storeyhigh depiction of “sistergirl” (transgender woman) and drag performer Shaniquá TiwiSista, from the Tiwi Islands, a 30-minute flight north of Darwin. (Lobley 2021) Aside from these towering murals which project a sense of an enlightened intersectional and multicultural Darwin, you can ‘connect with Aboriginal crafts’ and ‘discover the beauty of Aboriginal art’. Art, music and food are drawcards for a very lucrative strand of tourism. Not to deny that this shows progress, and at least superficially an effort to move away from being a ‘city of whiteness’ (Shaw 2007), empowering for some Aboriginal people. But while there is a conscious effort to promote a certain attractive image of Aboriginality around traditional arts and crafts, the truth of many Aboriginal lives is one of urban squalor and deprivation, shorter life expectancy and heightened health risks, and an increasing risk of incarceration – in the Northern Territory Indigenous Australians make up 84 per cent of the prison population (this is the highest proportion of any state or territory; see Monash University 2019).These are the realities of twenty-first-century Australia for many Aboriginal people. It is clear that, using a variety of images and other documents, the researcher can examine a case from multiple dimensions. In the case of One Mile Dam and the recurrent moral panic about ‘itinerants’ – a group of displaced Aboriginal people in Darwin – a public discourse had evolved which constrained how public discussion was framed. Drawing on people’s lived experiences, relationships and forms of social organisation, language and other expressive sign systems used, the case approach provides rich phenomenological data. As discussed in Chapter 2, case study research can make valuable strides by developing connections and interrelations between sign systems (using documents and artefacts, archives, media and ethnographic research), linking these to social phenomena and reviewing relevant theoretical explanations. Strengths of this approach are, first, the

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Visual Analysis 223 ability to develop in-depth specificity and insight into complex issues, while at the same time their great convenience is the use of fewer resources and the contained nature of the case, which can be an excellent illustration and test of theoretical ideas. The nature of the case lends itself especially to the use of multiple methods. In a case study concerning the conditions of indigenous Australians living in an informal camp near the city centre of Darwin (Spencer 2005, 2014), the small community of ‘One Mile Dam’ was a focal point, highlighting their campaign to resist threats of eviction from this small informal plot allocated for their use in the 1970s. The study focused on these issues, but also the broader social and political representation of ‘aboriginality’ in local and national discourse. As Critical Discourse Analysis (Diagram 5.3) shows, specific manifestations of image and text material are the manifestation and consequence of broader processes. The use of visual dimensions was valuable, showing clearly how entrenched attitudes have a historical basis in popular stereotypes prevalent and constantly reaffirmed by white Australian tabloid media. In other words, while the ethnographic detail of the people at ‘One Mile Dam’ is part of a specific bounded case, the social values which produce and reproduce these conditions can be found in the imagery and texts which link the local and specific case to the broader socio-historical reality of Australia. This specificity of the case study makes visual records of their dynamics, where these are possible, particularly suitable. As Banks (2007) suggests: ‘Visual methodologies relentlessly particularise, highlight the unique, go beyond the standardization of statistics and language’ (2007: 119). Case studies can be strongly contextualised and, in this instance, multiple data sources were used, including a range of visual and textual ones: newspapers, posters, video interviews with the residents, personal observations, historical records and caricatures from satirical nineteenth-century magazines. These sources highlighted aspects of the case which appeared to show similarities over time; stereotypes of Aboriginal people as

Diagram 5.4 Using multiple visual methods

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224 Visual Research and Social Realities unsuited to ‘modern’ urban lifestyles, as ‘at one with nature’, and as adversely affected by alcohol. These and other stereotyped representations which were prevalent in the 1800s remain relatively unchanged in the ugly depictions in today’s popular media. In reality, many such cases could benefit from a mixed methods approach, and often a visual element stemming from visual artefacts, media spectacles or commercial signs can be revealing of the way life happens. In exploring the question of how Australians represented indigenous people, there was a valuable array of newspapers, films, postcards, as well as links to historical representations such as satirical cartoons. In this way the manner in which ‘Aboriginality’ has been socially constructed becomes clear through the sphere of representation. Such evidence was used to supplement direct interview video recordings with indigenous subjects, as well as several other forms of data, from scholarly sources (e.g. activists and anthropologists working in the local area).

Using Multiple Levels of Visual Analysis However, simply adding different forms of data does not automatically confer validity. Using multiple methods is not the same as ‘triangulation’ – a term which suggests that if two or more forms of data lead to the same conclusion the conclusion can be upheld with more confidence.Yet the conclusion itself may, in the nature of ethnographic cases, be complex and tentative. Also, even if there seems to be consistency in the results, this is no assurance that the inferences drawn from the data sources are correct. As Hammersley and Atkinson (1997: 232–3) point out: ‘It may be that all the inferences are invalid, that as a result of systematic or even random error they lead to the same, incorrect, conclusion.’ Despite these issues, this layering of different image types demonstrates a purposeful and constant process of steering towards validity by negotiating the evidence from different sources and hence avoiding over-simplistic analysis or misinterpretation. Using multiple methods does not seek to hammer home the ‘truth’ (there are different possible readings, different possible truths) but rather to explore the complex interwoven, historical, social and cultural associations by which the ways of life in question are delineated. This is similar to what visual anthropologist Roger Canals (Part II) refers to when he outlines his ‘eclectic assemblage’, reflecting on: the usefulness of generating a plurality of diverse yet complementary outcomes (books, films, photographs, websites, and exhibitions) through research. In the vein of multi-modal anthropology, I shall suggest defining this set of “results” as an “eclectic assemblage” which can be used as a means not only to disseminate research among a wider audience, but also to question it with a view to future investigations. The different forms assembled not only explore different facets of the issue but provide rich textual materials to better disseminate and explain the findings. In Diagram 5.4 there are layers of visual research, and relationships between these layers reveal a much fuller understanding of the phenomenon central to the research. Here, some video footage captured the difficult conditions at the One Mile Dam camp, and accompanied interviews and observations of the pressure to evict indigenous people and send them away from the city. A still shows a woman washing clothes beside one of only two toilets on the site (which sometimes had to serve over 150 people). The other image is of the community’s leader Mr Timber working at the computer.

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Visual Analysis 225 At the level of media representations, two samples of newspaper headlines are shown (a form of ‘indirect’ ethnography), providing a link to the local context. Headlines like these, ‘Black V White’ and ‘Go Home’, show a tendency to choose sensational headlines suggesting trenchant conflicts, when, on scrutiny, the stories are far from simple.6 They could be seen as functioning, as noted by Stanley Cohen (1972), to stigmatise and stir up indignation in the readership – typical precursors to the moral panic. Next, there is a rich vein of found imagery – in this case two poster images used on an activist website. The first shows a group of indigenous people in the town centre – with the satirical caption below the title ‘Breathing while Black’. Prior to their being “moved on” by NT Police, these people were peaceably assembled in Darwin’s city centre, instead of their isolated and (according to ex-NT Chief Minister Shane Stone) “dysfunctional” communities. Don’t you love the Aboriginal Art (for the tourists) in the background. (Mick Lambe, PARIAH website) This wry commentary gives a sense of the weary attitude local Aboriginal people have to the prevalent attitudes towards their presence in the city. Also produced by the indigenous community is the second hard-hitting and disturbing image, picturing an urban Aboriginal man with a head wound and the words ‘Black Australia has had enough’. The man is pointing toward the viewer (which has the interpellative force discussed earlier).These are unequivocal images that cut through romanticism, call out the reality of racism and throw back the actual view of conditions which public discourse is at pains to avoid and deny. The use of the term ‘black’ is a form of ‘strategic essentialism’ linking the struggle to global histories of racism. Finally, these historical caricatures from the Queensland Figaro, in 1887, are examples of archival research. Here is another strand that can be added, as already shown, to trace the origins of discourse and resonate with the more immediate local frame of events. This is not to suggest that simply putting together a variety of different methods will necessarily achieve integrated understanding of the context. But in this case the layers of meaning demonstrate some of the historical and current continuities and the divisive colonialist discourses which are still prevalent in Australia. Where careful analysis of the evolving cultural values helps to understand the current conditions, a variety of approaches can be valuable. Even in a bounded case like this specific case of ‘itinerants’ in Darwin, a mixed methods approach not only does not compromise the integrity of the bounded case but actually strengthens the narrative, setting the specific dynamics of that case within the wider circuit of cultural discourses. These analytical thoughts inevitably lead to the creation of complex clusters of images around broad themes; using Steven Muecke’s (1982) ‘Available discourses on Aborigines’ as a starting point and exploring the consequences for a critical analysis which gets to grips with this very particular situation in northern Australia. Perhaps, images could be usefully clustered around key discourses, including: Romanticism/Tourism, Racism/ Criminalisation, Anthropological/Ethnographic and Resistance/Activism. The analyses discussed in this chapter so far, demonstrate several techniques which allow: the deep structure of images to be recognised, latent motives exposed, and the

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226 Visual Research and Social Realities functional relationship between discursive imagery critically highlighted. Analysis of this sort is important as the use of images might frequently naturalise and disguise ideological content which remains unchallenged. Even if such content may seem all too obvious, pointing out how such texts have been composed reminds us of the consequence of passively accepting them, and that other valid viewpoints are usually available.

Content Analysis and Electronic Digital Aids As Stuart Hall, the ‘godfather of cultural studies’, commented: There is no single or ‘correct’ answer to the question, ‘What does this image mean?’ … Since there is no law which can guarantee that things will have ‘one, true meaning’, or that meanings won’t change over time, work in this area is bound to be interpretative – a debate between, not who is ‘right’ and who is ‘wrong’, but between equally plausible, though sometimes competing and contested, meanings and interpretations. The best way to ‘settle’ such contested readings is to look again at the concrete example and try to justify one’s ‘reading’ in detail in relation to the actual practices and forms of signification used, and what meanings they seem … to be producing. (Hall 1997: 9) Hall’s advice is particularly important when we attempt to use visual material, where there are often multiple meanings and the way in which they inform a social issue may depend on reflexive aspects of the observer(s). Hence, while at heart this book is primarily about qualitative ‘readings’, it is important to explore the use of images in context through what can be loosely termed their ontology; their inter-objective and intersubjective relations through and within culture. It is these webs of meaning, or the ‘hermeneutic circle’ through which our interpretation and understanding is informed, which reveal the most about the workings of culture. Unlike semiotics, which seeks to analyse texts as structured wholes, and discourse approaches, which show the broad patterns of evolving disciplinary and institutional thought which generates and frames texts, content analysis requires a quantitative approach for the analysis of the manifest ‘content’ of media texts. One reason why this book is less concerned with the content and its frequency, is that there is more value in understanding how and why items are generated, than enumerating instances of imagery. Indeed, Burgelin argued: There is no reason to assume that the item which recurs most frequently is the most important or the most significant, for a text is, clearly, a structured whole, and the place occupied by the different elements is more important than the number of times they recur. (Burgelin 1968: 319) Whereas content analysis focuses on explicit content and tends to suggest that this represents a single, fixed meaning, semiotic studies focus on the system of rules governing the ‘discourse’ involved in media texts, stressing the role of semiotic context in shaping meaning (see Woollacott 1982: 93–4).

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Visual Analysis 227 However, a focus on qualitative approaches does not preclude other forms of evidence. Quantitative approaches may offer further justification for the interpretation of data, and may be valuable to the integrity of the research project. This is especially the case when a large volume of media samples is being examined. Content analysis can be a ‘blunt instrument’ (Hansen et al. 1998: 190), however, used with other approaches, as Stuart Hall argues, content analysis is a kind of immersion in the data. Content analysis uses this process of soaking oneself to define categories and build a code (based on an intuitive sense of where the main clusters occur) whereas literary, stylistic and linguistic analysis uses the preliminary reading to select representative examples which can be more intensively analysed. (Hall, in Smith 1975: 15) Riffe, Lacy and Fico emphasise that content analysis includes certain admirable qualities: it is ‘objective, systematic, and quantitative’ (2005: 24); but warn that these come with the caveat that:‘the emphasis on data reminds the reader that quantitative content analysis is reductionist, with sampling and operational or measurement procedures that reduce communication phenomena to manageable data (e.g., numbers) from which inferences may be drawn about the phenomena themselves’ (ibid.). Simply enumerating the occurrence of an image or a style or cluster of images and the pointed selectiveness of these is not necessarily meaningful. Despite these reservations, as Rose points out: ‘Content analysis and qualitative methods are not mutually exclusive’ (Rose 2016: 87).The mixing of quantitative and qualitative forms of data analysis can be part of an integrated mixed methods approach. Bell (2001: 14) gives a useful list of the types of research where content-based approaches can be useful. 1. Questions of priority/salience of media content: how visible (how frequently, how large, in what order in a programme) different kinds of images, stories, events are represented? ‘Agenda Setting’ studies of news broadcasts would be an example of this kind of question. 2. Questions of ‘bias’: comparative questions about the duration, frequency, priority or salience of representations of say, political personalities, issues, policies, or of ‘positive’ versus ‘negative’ features of representation. 3. Historical changes in modes of representation of, for example, gender, occupation, class or ethnically codified images in particular types of publications or television genres. (Bell 2001: 14) In many cases the foregrounding and prioritising of certain visual elements is a valuable means of detecting latent bias. Lutz and Collins’s study of National Geographic randomly chose one photo from each of 594 articles published in the magazine between 1950 and 1986. Their emphasis was on the ‘narrow discursive practice’ revealed in the portrayal of non-western cultures: Our book is not at all about the non-Western world but about its appropriation by the West and National Geographic’s role in that appropriation … NG invites

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228 Visual Research and Social Realities (readers) to look out at the rest of the world from the vantage point of the world’s most powerful nation. (1994: 7) In this instance, the latent cultural bias (akin to Said’s ‘orientalism’) is exposed through a careful analysis of the images of non-western peoples. The study revealed that the ‘National Geographic Genre’ focuses on several key themes, including: Exoticism, Idealized – Beautification, Gentle Natives, Naturalized, Sexualized. The latter referring to National Geographic’s proclivity for capturing images of naked men and women in exotic settings. Indeed, there are similarities to the othering implicit in early ethnographic practice in anthropology.There is also, clearly, a similar restricted, discursive index that popular representations, like the tourist imagery discussed earlier, make use of. There are challenges implicit in the processes of content analysis, in particular the finding of coding categories which completely cover the meanings of the images and which an independent researcher would be able to replicate. This is a challenge as social changes are likely to alter our evaluation of such texts over time. Consider, for example, the acceptability of language and nomenclature for different ethnic groups, or the manner in which women had been referred to between the 1960s and 2000s. However, when a large quantity of imagery is available, this form of analysis can produce dramatic and important results. It would be remiss, in a text which is discussing visual research in the 2020s, not to make some mention of trends in using digital technologies. There are plenty of manuals which set out guiding principles of video and photography production, and the latest hardware and software is arguably more flexible and easier to use than in the past. For Ruppert, Law and Savage (2013) ‘visualisation’ stands out as one of nine propositions for reassembling social science methods. They argue that with the transition to digital, visualisation has permitted the reduction of ‘excessive’ information to a form in which it is more readily assimilated and interpreted, allowing some ‘aesthetic criteria’ to be reintroduced into digital data sources: Rather than statistical analyses (through modelling procedures), visualisation becomes a summarising inscription device for stabilising and representing patterns so that they can be interpreted … Although different in construction to (for instance) Booth’s 19th century poverty maps, they nonetheless share a common concern with observing patterns, circulation, flows, and boundary maintenance and leakage. (2013: 12) It goes without saying that the plasticity of visual technologies has assisted this reemergence of visualisation. The variety of inexpensive disposable cameras means that photo-elicitation projects are more easily managed, and since 2010 most mobile phones (even the cheapest) have a camera.This may be to the dismay of some more traditionallyminded photographers who see the approach as adding to an avalanche of poor quality and thoughtlessly produced materials (see Jean Rouch’s dismayed reaction to the digital revolution, discussed earlier). While many of us have become self-taught in some of the principles of making, editing and presenting visual work, ignorance of the technical aspects of lighting, sound, appropriate framing and composition will inevitably impact on the depth and validity of the work, and more importantly shows an inappropriate lack of ‘care for the subject’.

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Visual Analysis 229 However, much of the anxiety about the flood of images triggered by the everincreasing capacity of digital technologies may be unfounded. Certainly, an individual can now take several hundred images rather than a dozen or so, but why should this imply that he or she has any less discernment for what makes a ‘good’ image? Why should such a critical faculty be only the province of the professional, the ‘auteur’? There are also numerous digital devices produced by software developers for tracing and visualising data that is circulated on the world wide web, such as Google’s PageRank, Technorati’s blog post aggregator, or the Lexis Nexis media aggregator (Beer 2009). ‘Social worlds are thus saturated, being done and materialised by digital devices and what is increasingly being understood as “big data” of various kinds’ (Ruppert, Law and Savage 2013: 3). This critical relationship of visualisation to the forms of text and numerical data is a significant development and marks a sea change in the way in which social sciences can access and represent rapidly changing processes and movements shaping the social world. In addition, there are several other uses of new technologies which are within the practical scope of many researchers, and quite a number are free ware. Parmeggiani (2009) suggests these are of three major types. First, DAM (Digital Asset Management); developed mainly for use by photographers, its aim is to organise catalogues. DAM is a protocol for managing, presenting and distributing multimedia files. These tools facilitate the organisation of catalogues (visual databases of media) which contain references to original files and are used to handle archiving, grouping organisation, renaming, rating, cataloguing, information management, optimising, editing, presentation, playback, publishing, exporting and distribution of files (Austerberry 2006: 881). The second type of software is called CAQDAS (Computer Assisted Qualitative Data Analysis Systems) produced for use by researchers for coding and analysing information. Traditional qualitative data collection techniques include in-depth interviews, focus groups and participant observation. These along with critical tools for analysis, including Grounded Theory, Framework, conversational and narrative analyses, can be further enhanced by the available technologies providing displays which allow more complex appreciation of the relationships between images, texts, sound and other data. There are several CAQDAS applications which can be used to combine different digital forms of data. One piece of software which has been actively taken up by researchers is ELAN (created by Lausberg and Sloetjes), an annotation tool for audio and video recordings. Annotations can be created on multiple layers, called ‘tiers’. Tiers can be hierarchically interconnected. An annotation can either be time-aligned to the media or it can refer to other existing annotations. ELAN users can create, edit, visualise and search annotations for video and audio data. Its main purpose is for analysing languages, including sign language, and gestures, but it can be expanded to other areas, such as video and audio annotation, analysis and documentation: ‘it is universal and can be successfully used by anyone who works with video and/or audio data. An unquestionable advantage of the program is its clear interface and user-friendly layout’ (Niedbalsk and Slezak 2021: 6). Like many of these tools it can take time and skill to get used to the format and the terms used, but after a few attempts it becomes more intuitive.The same is true of NVivo, a good example of this second kind of digital system and very widely used. Recent versions of NVivo software can be used to work with multimedia data and provide clear spatial visualisation graphics to demonstrate the relationships between, for example, clusters of

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230 Visual Research and Social Realities visual data. Below are just a few examples which show the array of visual forms of display which can enhance analysis and give immediate visualisation of relationships within data sets. NVivo 10 onwards has developed imaging to give useful analysis of image clusters (see example below). It is relatively simple in NVivo to create databases of hundreds of images which can then be coded and arranged in meaningful ways and show the relationships between image files, e.g. around a specific question relevant to sociological study. Consider the array of images presented in the above discussion of the Indigenous Australian case study. By extending this approach, dozens of images could be collected as clusters around dominant discourses, and this could be more carefully constructed using NVivo. The example below demonstrates how relationships between images can be elegantly and graphically presented. Here a range of images of park land and open urban spaces which had featured in a piece of research (contrasting aspects of challenging urban conditions in three areas of the UK7) are clustered. First, the relevant terms which will delineate the data are set up: these are called ‘nodes’. The images are then tagged within the relevant node. Using the above slides, visual researcher Mark Tomlinson (in 2014) demonstrated to students the way NVivo software can be used (this is NVivo 10). The software has some valuable applications for the analysis and categorisation of visual material. First (Figure 5.14a) each key theme is listed, such as ‘community’, ‘decay’ and ‘demolition’ (these are called ‘nodes’). When the images have been collected under the specific named node, they can then be displayed in a variety of ways. Figure 5.14b shows the vertical dendrogram; a branching diagram where similar items are clustered together on the same branch and different items are further apart; the differences and similarities are also often marked using colour coding. The individual images themselves in their clusters can be arrayed (Figure 5.14c) which shows the scope of the collected imagery to address key aspects of the research.Taking this further, this visual array can be further analysed using graphic editing tools which make it easy to ring particular clusters highlighting potentially significant aspects of the case (Figure 5.14d), making this a powerful tool for demonstrating relationships and stages of analysis at conferences or in lectures. In addition, NVivo provides a juxtaposition of visual data which is often instructive during the research process, allowing creative consideration of the relationships between images and concepts. This demonstrates the promise of visualisation, not only treating images as an integral part of the research, but enabling a formal approach to correlating and modelling the data, as well as a powerful tool for presenting findings. In addition, there are a number of ways in which text itself can become part of a visualisation. The obvious one is the word cloud which enables the relative frequency of terms within a document to be highlighted by size and sometimes colour. Below are just a few examples which show the array of visual forms of display which enhance analysis and immediate visualisation of relationships within data sets. NVivo 11 onwards has developed imaging to give useful analyses of image clusters (see example below). This tool can show relationships of frequency in articles visualised as word clouds. The example below highlighted the terms used in a paper about ‘Community Harmony’ in the Northern Territory of Australia – introducing the euphemistic term ‘itinerant’ rather than indigenous Australian or Aboriginal which would have immediately attracted attention. Indeed, the title itself, which seems innocent enough, is carefully chosen to suggest the intention of the strategies is ‘harmony’ and health rather than removal.

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Visual Analysis 231 (a)

(b)

(c)

(d)

Figure 5.14a and Figure 5.14b, Figure 5.14c and Figure 5.14d Examples of NVivo working with image files Source: Slides courtesy Dr Mark Tomlinson, University of Sheffield. (a)

(b)

Figure 5.15a Word cloud – article visualised as word clouds

Figure 5.15b Article visualised as word cloud in shape of a hand

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232 Visual Research and Social Realities Word clouds can provide impact, injecting an aesthetic into the data. However, too much of this type of shaping may pre-empt the meaning and demonstrate implicit bias. If for example I used the Aboriginal flag as the base for the word cloud, it might demonstrate a partisan approach which is potentially undermining. Ultimately, how valuable are word clouds? Katuu (2019: 172) makes the point that: word clouds remain a basic way of assessing information in very general terms and could be considered as being ‘unsupervised clustering’. While word clouds offer elegant visualization of frequency, they only explore a single dimension of transcripts – i.e., the frequency of exact words and synonyms. What about Parmeggiani’s (2009) third type of software? These are variously known as concept maps, mind maps, or argument maps, with the aim of displaying relationships between concepts using a combination of images, symbols and verbal concepts. There have been a number of innovations of this type of concept mapping software in the last ten years, and many applications (such as PowerPoint, with the addition of infographic tools from slidesgo and freepik) offer powerful conceptual tools for teaching and enhancing research findings. The brain can process visual material much quicker than text (estimates of 60,000 times quicker). People are argued to be hard-wired to use visual content, and evidence has demonstrated students’ performance improves by as much as 89 per cent when text-based instructions have accompanying graphics (Colvin Clark and Mayer 2008). Ultimately, the growing range of digital tools allow the intelligent processing of large volumes of images. They can enhance qualitative approaches or can systematically process data using a variety of algorithms which make quantification of collection and analysis much quicker, more immediate and more powerful. It is nevertheless argued by some that these visual techniques are not necessarily adequate on their own for data analysis and representation, rather they are powerful tools which provide new dimensions and systematise the process of analysis.

Critical Questions 1. Consider a picture (painting or photograph) you know of in terms of Rose’ sites and modalities as detailed in Table 5.1. You might find the example in Appendix 1 which considers Caravaggio’s The Incredulity of St Thomas a useful model to work from. 2. Choose an advertisement (print media or online) and see if you can perform semiotic analysis as suggested in any of the above examples. Are there implicit problems which the advert tries to resolve or disguise? Can you draw up binary oppositions which relate to the ideal reader being addressed and by contrast another type of person or characteristics which are being positioned against? 3. Next take the same ad and move onto forms of discourse analysis. Thinking of Diagram 5.3, consider how the advertising text is the result of discursive practices and reflects the broader frame of socio-cultural practices.

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Notes 1 The time attribute of a mental process; the actual experience of duration. The Free Dictionary has the following interesting definition: Barthes maintains that this referential obsession crystallized in the punctum of the image, the “that-has-been,” applies only and exclusively to the photographic image and is necessarily lost with the moving image, which is “protensive” – i.e., it never reaches the standstill position indispensable to the punctum of the photographic image … (‘Imitation of life: biopolitics and the cinematographic image’, The Free Library, 2012, Projectile Publishing Society, 23 January 2022. https://www.thefreelibrary.com/Imitation+of+ life%3a+biopolitics+and+the+cinematographic+image.-a0388662667) 2 Is it correct to suggest that film by its very protensive nature cannot be melancholic? There are certainly more than enough examples which would counter this claim. Quite a number of films capture the persistent memories of loss and focus on moments of heart-breaking remembrance. In the Japanese film called Still Walking (2008), directed by Hirokazu Koreeda, there were scenes which captured perfectly the ineffable sadness of the houses and rooms where the parents spent so many years of their lives together; the broken tiles in the silent bathroom, the doctor’s room a shrine to his old profession. The stillness of the scene projected the sense of the stasis after they had gone, and we are surprised when we see them walking again down the hill. The routes and routines, the missing boy, the butterfly trapped in the house, the soiled socks of the poor hapless boy whom they blame for their son Junpei’s death. Perhaps at the time Barthes was writing, examples of films which had this sort of stasis and time loops were less common. One only has to think of the Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky’s oeuvre to add many other examples of cinematic melancholy. 3 For a breakdown of the statistical evidence of inequalities, see the 2006 Australian Human Rights Commission figures: https://humanrights.gov.au/our-work/statistical-overview-aborigi nal-and-tor res-strait-islander-peoples-australia 4 In 1964 the passing of the NT Social Welfare Ordinance had given all Aboriginal people in towns the right to consume alcohol – a right which had been denied to ‘full blood’ Aborigines as ‘wards of the State’. Remembering the long campaign for citizenship, Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory and elsewhere equated the right to drink with ‘citizenship rights’ (Albrecht 1974: 5; Bain 1974: 43; Sansom 1977: 59, 1980: 49; Saggers and Gray 1998: 50; Cowlishaw 1999: 22). In camps around Northern Territory towns, Aboriginal fringe dwellers viewed themselves as ‘the true inheritors of the new era’ (Sansom 1980: 50). (From Day (2001: 1: ‘Race or race? The Darwin Beer Can Regatta as a statement of racial superiority’.) 5 The Larrakia have succeeded in having their land rights recognised for the majority of the Darwin area. 6 ‘The Black V White’ (Northern Territory News, 26 April 2003) story for example was about Aboriginal people who are the traditional owners who attempted to revoke the permits of thirteen white workers (who are doing work that Aboriginal people could be doing). Not having work is one key cause of the displacement of Aboriginal people from their ancestral homes and their appearance ‘as refugees’ begging for money and drinking in parts of Darwin. The story is more complex again as the Northern Land Council (an Aboriginal body) has refused to demand to revoke the permits, leading to a further dispute about whether the NLC has the power to overrule traditional owners. So, again, far from a simple story. The complex nuances in this and the ‘Go Home’ story are lost – and instead this reduction to sensational headlines (so certainly in this case, ‘the first victim is complexity’, but the ultimate victims are Aborigines). 7 The images in the screen shot are derived from a study for the Joseph Rowntree Foundation by Ian Cole (2011) with photographs by Andrew Robinson. https://www.jrf.org.uk/report/ living-through-change-challeng ing-neighbourhoods

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Visual Analysis 235 Hammerton, Sir J. (1933) Peoples of All Nations, London: Amalgamated Press. Hansen, A., Cottle, S., Negrine, R. and Newbold, C. (1998) Mass Communication Research Methods, New York: New York University Press. Jones, P. (2007) ‘Why there is no such thing as “critical discourse analysis”’, Language & Communications, 27: 337–368. Katuu, S. (2019) ‘The utility of visual methods in the research odyssey’, in Proceedings of 18th European Conference on Research Methodology, Wits Business School, 20–21 June 2019, pp. 164–173. Kress, G. and Hodge, R. (1979) Language as Ideology, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Lobley, K (2021) ‘Experience Aboriginal culture in Darwin’, Tourism Australia. Online. www.austra lia.com/en-gb/places/darwin-and-surrounds/experience-aboriginal-culture.html (last visited November 2021). Lutz, Catherine and Collins, Jane (1994) ‘The photograph as an intersection of gazes: the example of National Geographic’, in Visualizing Theory: Selected Essays from V.A.R. 1990–1994, ed. Lucien Taylor, New York: Routledge, pp. 363–384. Markwick, Alison, Ansari, Zahid, Clinch, Darren and McNeil, John (2019) ‘Experiences of racism among Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander adults living in the Australian state of Victoria: a cross-sectional population-based study’, BMC Public Health, 19, article 309. Mejstrik, M. (1999) ‘Czech Republic: the revolution’s fading velvet’, Transitions Changes in PostCommunist Societies, 6(1): 38–41. Monash University (2019) ‘Lowered incarceration rates’, Castan Centre for Human Rights Law. Online. www.monash.edu/law/research/centres/castancentre/our-areas-of-work/indigenous/ the-northern-territory-inter vention/the-northern-territory-inter vention-an-evaluation/fam ily-violence-and-child-abuse Muecke, S. (1982) ‘Available discourses on Aborigines’, in P. Botsman (ed.) Theoretical Strategies, Sydney: Local Consumption Press. Niedbalsk, Jakub and Slezak, Izabela (2021) ‘Exploring CAQDAS – how to support a novice user of Computer Aided Qualitative Data Analysis Software’, Qualitative Research: Practices and Challenges, 6. Northern Territory News (2021) ‘Darwin “wet camp” for itinerants could be established by next dry season’, 7 May. Nyíri, Kristóf (2001) ‘Wittgenstein’s philosophy of pictures’, in Alois Pichler and Simo Säätelä (eds) Wittgenstein: The Philosopher and His Works, Working Papers from the Wittgenstein Archives at the University of Bergen, no. 17, Wittgenstein Archives at the University of Bergen (WAB), 2005, pp. 281–312. Panofsky, Erwin (1939 [1972]) Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance, New York: Oxford University Press. Parmeggiani, Paolo (2009) ‘Going digital: using new technologies in visual sociology’, Visual Studies, 24(1): 71–81. Price, E. (2010) ‘Reinforcing the myth: constructing Australian Identity on “reality TV”’, Continuum, 24(3): 451–459. Purgar, K. (ed.) (2017) W.J.T. Mitchell’s Image Theory: Living Pictures, London: Routledge. Ricoeur, P. (1974) ‘Metaphor and the central problem of hermeneutics’, Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, 3(1): 42–58. Online. https://doi.org/10.5840/gfpj1973/1974314 Riffe, D., Lacy, S. and Fico, F.G. (2005) Analyzing Media Messages, 2nd edn, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Rose, G. (2016) Visual Methodologies, 4th edn, London: Sage. Ruppert, Evelyn, Law, John and Savage, Mike (2013) ‘Reassembling social science methods: the challenge of digital devices’, Theory, Culture & Society, 30(4): 22–46. Goldsmiths Research Online. http://research.gold.ac.uk/7978/ Russell, Bertrand (1922) Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, London: Kegan Paul. Saunders, K. (1984) Indentured Labour in the British Empire, 1834–1920, London: Croom Helm.

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236 Visual Research and Social Realities Shaw, W. (2007) Cities of Whiteness, Oxford: Blackwell. Spencer, S. (2005) ‘Contested homelands: Darwin’s “itinerant problem”’, Pacific Journalism Review, 11(1): 174–197. Spencer, S. (2006) ‘Framing the fringe dwellers: visual methods for research and teaching race and ethnicity: a sample case study’, in M. Farrar and M. Todd (eds) Teaching Race in Social Sciences – New Contexts, New Approaches, Birmingham: C-SAP Monograph, pp 144–183. Spencer, S. (2014) Race and Ethnicity: Culture, Identity and Representation, 2nd edn, London: Routledge. Sutton, Damian (2009) Photography, Cinema, Memory:The Crystal Image of Time, London: University of Minnesota Press. Tumarkin, Maria (2004) ‘First as a tragedy, second as a farce … traumascapes, memory and the curse of indifference’, Overland, 175. Weedon, C. (1987) Feminist Practice and Post-structuralist Theory, Oxford: Blackwell. Willette, J. (2013) ‘Roland Barthes: Camera Lucida’, Art History Unstuffed, 27 December. Theory. [email protected] Woollacott, Janet (1982) ‘Messages and meanings’, in Michael Gurevitch, Tony Bennett, James Curran and Janet Woollacott (eds) Culture, Society and the Media, London: Routledge.

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Part II

Research Practices in Focus

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Introduction to Part II

So far, many examples have been presented of how a visual research process might proceed, encouraging readers to ponder the varied ways that the visual and multimodal relationships to the visual can reveal important aspects of everyday life. These examples show that images can be central to the research, either as the object of study, as artefacts which link to relationships of power and position individuals discursively, or as forms of evidence to illustrate how ongoing dialectical processes are manifest, or of course both. The researcher develops a keen eye for making use of visual resources which can be valuable, and revealing forms of evidence able to complement more traditional approaches like recording interview material, using statistical data or exploring semiotic and discourse analyses of socio-economic and political representations. Part II brings together essays by four well-established visual researchers, each of whom has an original perspective and has developed practical skills for using their cameras and their senses to address complex socio-cultural issues.Their detailed commentaries resonate with many of the issues and concerns discussed in the previous chapters, and go further, showing fully-fledged research projects and their outcomes. These reflective essays offer insights into innovative visual practice: sources of inspiration, processes and designs, the tightrope of ethical and institutional constraints. The reflexivity of their work shows the researcher as a producer of images and visual narratives that are a means of understanding social reality within a challenging and shifting theoretical landscape. Further, they show that visual methods go beyond the strictures of traditional research dynamics and carve out a place for the visual in its own right. At an anthropology conference a few years ago, having projected up eclectic images tracing lines of the ruins of industry along the waterways in Sheffield and discussed the importance of looking more carefully at these everyday sights, I was asked the question ‘So what? We are saturated with images, anybody can take them, and we see them every day – what makes your images any more important?’ Perhaps this is a good question. Visions of the city abound; there is an enormous and readily available resource (taking the Flickr repository as just one example). Perhaps the best response is that this very saturation is a reason to take them seriously, to take a step back and look more carefully, to help develop a critical respect for the image. We cannot avoid images but we do need to learn to look with discernment and be critical because of their power to convince, to hypnotise, to present a world which seems normal, while often disguising implicit political and economic motives. Further, the visual researcher must constantly strive for validity, recognising the shifting and varied cultural meanings of the image, as well as the tightrope of their own discipline and what it will consider permissible. Not to be overly defensive here, but there is a sort of arrogance in the question too. If cities are made up of DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-9

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240 Research Practices in Focus thousands of individually unique perceptions and stories, there are many voices which can be raised with individual critiques of the everyday – what makes them more or less valid? Is it dependent on following a particular set of disciplinary pathways; employing a few ‘consecrated’ intellectual sources? Might that be a way of not being called out with the ‘so what’ question? Indeed, it’s not that the images themselves are any more remarkable, but whether they follow a line of reasoning I agree with or not. To stay under the wire might give you a free pass but it risks reproducing more of the same often anodyne studies. Each of these four researchers presented here demonstrates a practice developed through interest and commitment to the phenomenon that is the focus of their study. They ‘push the envelope back’ with abundant suggestions of where visual research can go further, and each has developed their practice in a strong critical and ethical framework. Images may be potentially narcoticising; Debord’s everyday ‘permanent opium war’ of the spectacle; without a critical appraisal which allows us to look beyond their surfaces. At the very least, a critical sociology of the visual might yield insights into the everyday – the things that are too familiar, too close to home.This implicit dilemma of the image and image-based research is addressed by each of the writers in this section. These authors examine facets of social life with freshness, innovation and a critical (politically attuned) eye, rather than adding to an avalanche of undifferentiated visual studies. How is this critical and political analysis achieved through imagery and what relationship do such readings have to the aesthetic sense of the visual? These essays take the discussion of our relationship to the image (filmic or photographic) very seriously. There is often an uneasy relationship between discourses of art and the social scientist using a camera with the intention of penetrating the mundane surface of a society to analyse the social and political meanings manifest in the image; its institutional uses and its role in people’s lives. However, without the aesthetic eye of the artist, the technical eye of the professional, the images we produce may lack coherency as visual evidence, or the power to defamiliarise the everyday. Luc Pauwels, a key thinker and writer on visual research, argues for a more technologically savvy research practice, but warns that this must be tempered with awareness that technology cannot resolve epistemological or ethical problems (Pauwels 2010: 571–3). Each of these four researchers combines a mastery of technical skills with subtle theoretical and philosophical discussion to show the expressive capacities of the visual and the multisensory to explore social issues. Panizza Allmark is a professor of visual and cultural studies and also a professional photographer who marries technical excellence with an understanding of the traditional aesthetics of urban documentary photography. In her piece, ‘Framing a Photographie Féminine: Photography of the City’, she revisits her original essay and looks critically at a practice which might explore and subvert dominant aesthetics. Her work recognises the importance of individual positionality; and in particular gender identity as an important mediating factor in the negotiated production and analysis of how we see urban life.The chosen photographs highlight struggles between dominant and subversive readings: the sacred and the profane. In her selected image a Las Vegas chapel (that long iconic part of the tourist mystique of the city specialising in elaborate or economy packaged, even ‘drive through’, weddings) is juxtaposed with pornographic images pasted onto a board in the foreground. In other examples, hegemonic masculinity and military discipline are contrasted with the imperatives of consumption and gentler alternative forms of the masculine framed by leisure and fashion. This uneasy (‘uncanny’) vacillation between visions is a constant feature of cities;Allmark’s juxtapositions alerting us to contradictions implicit in our culture. In addition, her practice rejects any comfortable

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Introduction to Part II 241 neo-liberal consensus; there is raw anger of dissent expressed in the faces of the protesters in her images of the Madres of the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires. Overall, this reflexive essay considers how visual practice is inherently political when used to highlight implicit contradictions in global culture: both sacred and profane, power and resistance; here are sights which break the bounds of tacit social control. Sarah Atkinson demonstrated innovative directorial skills in creating Crossed Lines (produced between 2002 and 2007); it is ‘a piece of visual historiography of human communications in an analogue era, pre-mass-mobile-use, revealing the bounded nature in time and space of analogue communications, which are in stark contrast to the increasing porosity of digital communications media’. This ingenious visual project straddled several disciplinary boundaries: audience perception and psychology, narratology, genre theory of cinema, skills at scripting and editing, and technical expertise and managing a complex project with technicians, actors and public groups in order to produce this stand-alone art installation. Crossed Lines is an enquiry into audience engagement. Nine original video pieces, each based on careful research to ensure the convincing realism of their separate contexts, were relayed through a multi-screen viewing environment. The interactive format enabled the researcher to measure the amount of engagement viewers invested in each narrative and how they combined the stories, creating their own composite narratives. This installation crosses boundaries between academic studies of audience and the exploration of an aesthetic of narrative and cinematic fiction. Her updated review of the project gives valuable insight into the influences and detail of how practical solutions were devised to the complex challenges faced. The results remain ground-breaking and reveal how audiences engage with visual narratives. At heart, Roger Brown’s ‘Photography as Process, Documentary Photographing as Discourse’ presents a manifesto for the practice of photography. Brown seeks to integrate both technical and moral aspects; combining implicit care for the ‘truth of the subject’, ethical collaborative practice and concerns for quality of pictorial integrity, geometry, meaning, vision and lighting. Brown’s analysis of ‘photographing’ (illuminated by his diverse practice as a documentary photographer) outlines a convincing and finely grained analytical path, drawing on Ricoeur’s discursive framework to bridge the hermeneutic divide between documentary photographing and nuances of language. This demanding essay remains unchanged, and it stands the test of time. Gadgetry and ‘platforms’ for the digital may have changed and proliferated, but the basis of the craft benefits from less transitory precepts; refusing to reduce photography to either art or science, while recognising, as a form of mental expression, it is dependent on both. Roger Canals is an anthropologist and film-maker. His essay ‘Research as an Eclectic Assemblage’ revisits and renews his ongoing analysis of the practices and iconography associated with María Lionza, a Venezuelan folk icon. María Lionza is a figure whose features undergo transformation to meet the needs of different meaning systems in Venezuela’s complex multi-ethnic society, and in the present phase of his analysis Professor Canals explores the movement of the cult through the diaspora to Barcelona and other cities outside of Venezuela. In this study Canals demonstrates the importance of a reflexive study of these complex transformations as facets of global culture, but also the manner in which such an investigation might illuminate the methodology of visual research. As a skilled visual practitioner, Canals has produced several cutting-edge films, including his recent A Goddess in Motion (2016). Uniquely, the director himself appeared in the film and was inducted through ritual purification processes. This truly immersive engagement

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242 Research Practices in Focus in the lifeworlds associated with the goddess María Lionza is a sign of real commitment to the principle that there should be homology between the object and method of research. Canals’s varied outputs are also an expression of the need to see research as an ‘eclectic assemblage’. This means giving access to draft experimental ideas to be tested, and the production of multimedia outcomes, in film, texts, websites and exhibitions. Finally, ten years on from the initial essay in which he robustly defended the integrity of image-based research as an approach in its own right, today, he rightly declares that, at this juncture, we should be moving past the constant round of academic debates about the role of the visual.There is no longer any doubt about the centrality of image-based research, it is time to recognise that any researcher should possess ‘a minimum knowledge of visual theory and methodology’. Drawing upon aesthetics, philosophy, visual anthropology, cultural studies and sociology, psychology, ethnography, media and communication theory, these essays provide a glimpse into the profound potential for visual research. Each author addresses the features of their chosen field and explores critical and analytical concerns which underpin and illuminate their work. The progress of time has merely strengthened the arguments and the clarity with which these are expressed. There are lessons for all researchers, not least that a passion for the subject is an important prerequisite for the best research practice.

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6

Framing a Photographie Féminine Photography of the City Panizza Allmark

In my photography, I am interested in ways that the city can be both aestheticised and politicised. In my work I acknowledge that ‘the photograph both mirrors and creates a discourse with the world, and is never, despite its often passive way with things, a neutral representation’ (Clarke 1997).The act of photography reframes the scene that I encounter. In my representations of the city, I have developed a critical practice that acknowledges the cultural legacy of colonialism, capitalism, photography and the representation of gender, from a feminist position, rather than following a modernist practice concerned with the purely formal, ‘visual’ aesthetics that seek to promote masculine modalities of power, authority and distance. Hence, my photographs are a departure from the masculine landscape aesthetic traditions of the ‘sublime’ and the ‘beautiful’ according to Edmund Burke and Immanuel Kant, which promote the division between self and other. The allure of the site in this aesthetic tradition is that one is to stand back, be still, contemplate and ‘appreciate’ the scene. Rather than a place to see for the itinerant gazer, my photographs of space involve the dynamic interaction of the place. It involves a queering of space, it exposes the heteronormative aspects of representations of gender in the city, using tactics of subversion to reflect what is hidden in plain sight. I am concerned with the gender politics of body and space, in particular drawing on the themes of the uncanny and the abject, which are aspects of society that have been repressed or excluded. Moreover, my work embraces a photographie féminine, drawn from the French feminist notion of écriture féminine, writing the feminine (body). Sellers (1996: 13), commenting on the work of French feminist theorist Hélène Cixous, insists that ‘écriture féminine involves the inscription of that which is repressed within history and culture’. I am also following what Sellers (1996: 10) asserts might be ‘the ultimate aim of écriture féminine which is to induce us to re-examine our connection to the world’. Like écriture féminine, photographie féminine frames and draws attention to ambiguities, (visual) puns, heterogeneity and, significantly, critiquing heteronormative patriarchal structures. There is an intimacy and, as highlighted earlier, an act of visual aesthetic resistance, a politics of disorientation that reorders the visual, that is akin to queer feminist practice. My work is concerned with the commotion in public spaces in the city, with particular emphasis on spaces of transition. As a photographie féminine it explores the concept of liminality, an indeterminacy and the in-between space that within my visual work are reframed. Generally, my work focuses on places and artefacts we move past, but rarely stop to look at or engage with. My photographs explore notions of the ‘everyday’ and the ‘uncanny’ that may be construed as a feminist counter-aesthetic (Giblett 1996; Cixous 1976; Allmark 2002, 2008). I read my work as presenting a feminist counter-aesthetic of the uncanny, which DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-10

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244 Research Practices in Focus is an indeterminate and potentially ominous space. For example, according to Freud (1958: 153), the uncanny arouses dread and horror, ‘a hidden, familiar thing that has undergone repression and then emerged’. Furthermore, the re-analysis of Freud’s uncanny opens up possibilities for a feminist consideration of my photographs in exploring its resistance to submitting to the ‘laws’ of ‘patriarchal binary thought’ with its rigid boundaries, to an embracement of feminist concepts which allow for contradiction to coexist and its attempt to uncover what is hidden and repressed. As stated earlier, the photograph is not a ‘neutral observation’. This also follows Trinh T. Minh-ha’s (1993: 166) assertion that ‘every spectator mediates a text to his or her own reality’. Nevertheless, as a photographer I am making overt decisions in what I choose to photograph and exhibit/publish, and most of my work that has been exhibited or published follows a feminist undercurrent, as such gender is the primary signifier. I acknowledge that in the early twenty-first century, the term ‘feminist’ seemed to be an ‘unfashionable’ label; this is due to the belief that as a result of socio-economic progress in western society, it is a movement that is often seen as superfluous. This had certainly been my experience, as an academic. When I posed the question: ‘are you a feminist?’ to the students at the commencement of the class, very rarely did I get more than three out of twenty students acknowledging that they hold any feminist views. But in recent years, the popular cultural climate has changed. The #MeToo movement, the dominance of female pop stars espousing feminist messages and the widespread media attention on feminism have raised political consciousness to issues of representation (Allmark 2020). There is a cultural significance placed on the lived experience and this is represented through the primacy of the visual, such as in social media sites like Instagram, in which reflexivity plays a critical role in the selection of types of photographs shared. The photographs that I produce are examples of how, as a western, middle-class woman, I see the world. I follow the common features of feminist methodology as well as the characteristics of art/documentary photography, which includes an emphasis on the validity of personal experience as well as self-reflexivity, to attempt to convey the differing views of the world. In particular, I follow a range of (predominantly male) documentary photographers who while they have a topic of investigative research, tend to emphasise self-revelations and self searches, along with intuitively knowing the right moment to photograph. Almost unanimously, photographers in the documentary tradition say that it is in a search for placing oneself that people find out who they are and how they are connected to each other. Style is necessary but secondary (Lacks 1987: 35). In foregrounding connections, my work presents binaries that coexist, a perspective that challenges standard viewing points. My work is concerned with intertextuality. ‘Intertextuality refers to the ways that the meaning of any one discursive image or text depends not only on that one text or image, but also on the meanings carried by other images and texts’ (Rose 2001: 79). The challenge lies in ‘how to make the intertextual connections convincingly productive’ (ibid.: 83). I endeavour to do this by evoking noise and pollution, in a political sense. My photographs attempt to cause a disturbance by bringing together disparate elements in the one visual frame. Borrowing the term ‘dirt’ from Mary Douglas (1966: 35), my work is littered with the concept of dirt as ‘a matter out of place’. As such, it embraces the use of irony, the transgression of boundaries and the promotion of ambiguity. Furthermore, the images convey a sense of uncanny horror, a disruptive play and irony in terms of mainstream photographic conventions. For example, my visual work often focuses on what is unremarked, passed by and overlooked in the everyday street.

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Framing a Photographie Féminine 245 This documentary style, in particular, has its history in the early twentieth-century street photography of Paris by Eugene Atget. ‘As a documentary project’, Atget’s almost 10,000 photographs were ‘more comprehensive than anything previously attempted in European photography; in fact, Atget was the first photographer to undertake the description of a city in such detailed and extensive terms’ (Lifson 1980: 7). Furthermore,Atget’s work was distinctive in the sense that he ‘sees all his subjects in terms of metaphor’ and it ‘wasn’t simply parks, statues, shops and so forth, but also images’ (Atget, cited in Lifson 1980: 8). Benjamin (1979: 250) praises Atget’s work, asserting that ‘he looked for what was unremarked, forgotten, cast adrift, and thus such pictures, too, work against the exotic, romantically sonorous names of the cities’. It accomplishes what Benjamin (ibid.: 251) describes as ‘the achievements of surrealist photography’ which ‘sets the scene for a salutary estrangement between man [sic] and his surroundings’. In a surrealist sense, my work encapsulating urban wanderings engages with images of doubling, reflections and attempts to transcend the anecdotal. My recent work, a study of shopping centres in various cities around the world, also draws on Atget’s approach. Instead of Atget’s city streets, my photographic works focus on the walkways within the large shopping malls. These could be described as the new Main or High Streets, which were the shopping areas of small towns or suburbs in the time before consumption capitalism. My photographic work of the sites and sights of shopping malls follows the Surrealist tradition of ‘making familiar the strange and the strange familiar’ (Phipps 2006: 186). I acknowledge that my photographs are similar on a stylistic level to Atget. I have admired his oeuvre. I certainly consider him a ‘master’ of photography, and in my work, I face the difficulty that Grundberg (1990: 196) identifies: For the documentary photographer today, there are at least two problems: to find a subject matter that has not already been exhausted by previous photographs; and to find a style that can maintain at least a medium of documentary authority without merely repeating the conventions of the documentary tradition. Like Atget, I also try to work against the romantic and the exotic. My work, like Atget’s, involves complexity, multiplicity, even contradictions. But, according to Lifson (1980: 7), ‘Atget doesn’t blur distinctions. He doesn’t confuse the divine love of two Gothic angels with the profane love of prostitutes’ – as I attempt to do similarly in my blurring of the sacred and the profane. Arguably, the streets of Paris in the early twentieth century were quite different from the dominion of acculturated images in the streets of contemporary cities, which gives me the opportunity to explore a wider diversity of subjects. But I consider my work is not about ‘estrangement between “man” and his surroundings’; it is about my engagement with the scene; for example in my street images, I am a woman often facing images of ‘woman’ (in street advertising), and moreover, as a young woman photographer my presence on the street often attracts more attention. Hence, the notion of the flâneur, the male onlooker with the freedom of movement throughout the city, is certainly a gendered privilege. From a feminist position it is not simply a matter of changing the term ‘flâneur’ to ‘flâneuse’ to acknowledge the presence of women on the street, because flânerie involves privileging of the gaze, which is a masculine modality and does not provide a space for a feminine mode of interaction. Massey (1994: 234) suggests that there could not be a female flâneur because, although a flâneur observed others, he was not observed. Furthermore, the flâneur’s gaze was frequently erotic and on the look-out for sexual conquests. In this understanding the male is seen as the strategic protagonist.

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246 Research Practices in Focus Following de Certeau (1985: 127) in his discussion of practices of space, my work concerning public spaces also involves tactics that ‘play upon “opportunities”, catch occurrences, and the opacities of history’, rather than a strategic practice which may be considered masculine and connotes a history of militarisation and organisational and institutional control. Tactics are ‘a way of operating available to people displaced and excluded as “other” by the bordering actions of strategy’ (Morris 1992: 33). As such, the photographic approach involves tactics that seek to disrupt the masculine strategic hold of public space.The masculine hold of public space is related to the structured, official, linear vision of city, whereas these (feminist and subversive) tactics are characterised by a degree of uncertainty and indeterminacy. They operate on the ‘fringes’ of social order and seem to offer a capacity to recombine heterogeneous elements of culture. One of my photographic tactics is to convey the uncanny through reframing found images, and hence disturb and reveal what is often repressed. In the process of reframing, or incorporating a picture within a picture, it aims to destabilise the masculine ‘realm of pleasure’ of the gaze, in order to move beyond the limiting visual boundaries of the image. The longest and broadest project (over ten years) I have been engaged with is a series of images taken from various cities across the world, such as Rome, Istanbul, Perth, Singapore and London, of images of sexualised women that are found on the pavements of the city. But re-photographed in their found context, it suggests their pervasiveness as well as highlighting the female status as discarded commodities, as ‘abjects of affection’. It is also an attempt to destabilise the aforementioned ‘erotic’ nature of the flâneur’s gaze at the sexualised woman. Pictured within a wider perspective, the boundary edges are metaphorically blurred and the found images are photographed in a broader, sometimes contradictory cultural context.This approach of bringing together disparate elements is similar to what Steve Spencer, drawing upon Benjamin’s notion of the dialectical image, asserts: ‘there are dialectical images everywhere when the mind and eye is attuned to the inherent paradoxes and the multiple social realities which stir between the crumbling, over-layered façades and the sleek seamless surfaces of the city’ (Spencer, Chapter 3). An example of this form of dialectic image, which evokes the uncanny, is my photograph of the exterior of a small wedding chapel in Las Vegas (Figure 6.1). In the photograph the collision between the sacred and the profane can be found in the pornography stand situated outside the chapel. In the foreground, the stand contains a number of magazines with images advertising female sexual services. It represents females as a commodity. In terms of the placement of pornographic material available in the vicinity of a religious site, the photograph combines the sacred and secular. The church is reminiscent of a Protestant country church; it is white, with a steeple and crucifix. It signifies simple Puritan family values such as community, tradition and conservatism. In the photograph, the doors of the chapel are closed; the outside lights of the building are on, which suggests that a religious service is taking place within the confines of the building. It is therefore sacred and private. This type of church is often a model for wedding cakes and therefore invested with the ‘positive’ values of heterosexual romance leading to marriage and monogamy. The wedding chapel is situated amongst grand-scale resort hotels, elements of which can be seen near the edges of the photographic frame.Venturi (1998), in his analysis of the architecture of Las Vegas, considers that allusion and comment on the past or present, or on our great commonplaces or old clichés, are evident in the city of Las Vegas. This represents a postmodern pastiche; it is kitsch and is a kind of aesthetic populism.

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Figure 6.1 Las Vegas, 1999

My framing of the pornographic magazine stand juxtaposed with the white chapel suggests an ‘anxious’ ambiguity of traditional boundaries between the sacred and the profane. The framing disturbs the aesthetics of the chapel and is shadowed by the uncanny presence of the stand. In the pornography stand, which is a blue box, there were magazine images of commodified female sexuality on display behind glass. The stand consists of advertisements for sexual services. Young scantily clad women in highly provocative poses gaze out longingly from the brochure covers. It is situated for full public access and visibility. The ‘pure’ Protestant values invested in the chapel, which are juxtaposed with the pornographic images, represent the divergence between ideas of expressions of female sexuality. Even the colours of the two constructions are in contrast: the white of the chapel represents innocence and purity, whereas the dark blue is connotative of ‘blue’ movies, the underworld and the forbidden. Paglia (1990: 34) claims that our pagan past is based on cultic exhibitionism. She asserts that ‘pornography is pure pagan imagism’ which is now commodified and reproduced mechanically. Paglia’s interpretation of pornography exposes Judeo-Christianity with its wish to eradicate pornography and suppress paganism. With this in mind this photograph reveals the implicit contradictions of religious practices operating in the midst of the hyperreal superficial commercial culture of Las Vegas (where, for example, drive-in weddings are available). In the foreground a board less than ten

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248 Research Practices in Focus metres from a chapel displays pornographic, clichéd images of female sexuality advertising female sexual services challenge the notion of what is considered a proper viewing act in public. This blatant exposure reflects a breakdown of traditional aesthetic, sexual and spatial boundaries. Other examples of the highlighting of disparate elements are in a couple of images taken in New York. In an image taken on Wall Street (Figure 6.2), the uniformed sailors are juxtaposed in the frame alongside the commercial image of free-spirited rock and roll male individuality in the fashion advert for ‘True Religion’. In the image, opposing binaries are brought together. For example, there is conformity versus individuality, and the ‘freedom’ of the city versus the regulation of the naval service. Nevertheless, both are dependent on each other for the survival and protection of the city. Similarly, in another image (Figure 6.3), the notion of the armed forces and being armed with shopping bags are brought together. Military and commerce are united.The photographs play with the idea of the freedom to shop and the defence of freedom within the so-called ‘land of the free’. The two images draw attention to issues of capitalism, gender and masculinity, in the city. Gendered issues could also be associated with the use of the camera. The camera may be described as a weapon and this is particularly evident in the notion of the camera as a gun in which it is a predatory weapon in the act of aiming, focusing and shooting. For example, early twentieth-century safari photographer Carl Akeley said that he set out to design a camera ‘that you can aim … with about the same ease that you can point a pistol’ (cited in Haraway 1989: 42). Furthermore, ‘he enjoyed retelling the apocryphal story of seven Germans mistakenly surrendering to one American when they found themselves faced by an Akeley’ (ibid.: 43). As a women photographer on the street, one is seen as less threatening than a male with a camera. It is more likely that passers-by will approach you and want to talk to you. Often, they may be curious about your choice of framing or will simply invite you to take their photograph. Though, there are always ethical considerations when taking photographs, and I have made a point of not photographing people unless permission is granted and they want their image taken, or cannot be identified easily in the image, or alternatively are engaging in a form of public display. I therefore use a wide-angle or standard lens when working, which engages in personal space, rather than a telephoto zoom lens where there is a greater physical distance (and anonymity) of the photographer spying on the object prey, as in the analogy of the camera as a gun. In my picturing of events, such as the ones mentioned, there is always the issue of ethics. The photographs that I produce may be deemed to be ‘concerned photography’ because they attempt to convey features of the humanist paradigm of subjective documentary, such as a sense of empathy or complicity with the subject of representation. I wouldn’t accept that the camera is only a weapon, because this entails aggression. Therefore, in my photographic practice I consider the camera as a defensive utensil against loss of subjectivity, rather than an offensive weapon. Indeed, it is through the transitory moments of travel and the play of perspectives with the use of the camera that I present a dialectic of vision, concerning self and others.The dialectic allows ‘the superimposition of fleeting images, present and past’ that makes ‘both suddenly come alive in terms of revolutionary meaning’ (Buck-Morss 1989: 220). Much of my street documentary photography has also concerned the notion of protest in public spaces, hence alluding to the notion of the uncanny and its disturbing

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Figure 6.2 New York (No. 1), 1999

Figure 6.3 New York (No. 2), 1999

qualities. My documentary photographs in the context of public squares are informed by the feminised concept of the ‘chora’. Elizabeth Grosz (1995: 51) asserts, chora ‘is the space in which place is made possible’. It is a place of interactions. For example, in the series of images of the man standing on a statue in Trafalgar Square (Figure 6.4), the physical dialogue or interaction between him, the crowd and myself is recorded. The man’s relation with the ‘world’, and his momentary dominance and control, is expressed in his body language and positioning on the crown of the lion’s head, which is also a symbol of strength.The man standing on the lion represents his supremacy over the ‘king of the jungle’.

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Figure 6.4 London, 1999

One of my first observations was as follows: Standing defiantly on the crown of a statue of a lion in Trafalgar Square, London, a young man with his fists clenched and arms raised together high above his head addresses the crowds beneath him. He turns towards me and we exchange looks. He gently smiles, waves, bows down and seductively blows me a kiss … he notices my camera, he repeats the gesture … I take another photograph. (18 June 1999) In terms of mastery, the man displays machismo in his stance, and his dominant position over the lion is emblematic of patriarchy. The display of his body and his bare chest resists the conformity of the clothed bodies beneath him. He subverts the western bourgeois standards of middle-class public decorum and in his dominant posture is expressing western notions of ‘primal’ power of the ‘primitive’ or tribal male. His final gesture towards me represents a display of sexuality. It highlights my feminine presence and the significance of gender relations in social discourse. A solitary white male facing the landscape is also a masculine, romantic notion which conveys the divide between self and other. The landscape is to be dominated. In the context of the anti-capitalist rally, his actions, both symbolically and physically, represent an act of defiance against passive bourgeois norms. This reading is particularly relevant because the image was taken as part of a series of images at the J18 anti-capitalist rally in Trafalgar Square in 1999. It is highly significant because the square as a major ‘tourist attraction’ of London has a historical importance as a ‘strategic’ place. Street protests are a vital way of attracting public support and media attention to a cause. However, the sensationalist popular media tends to focus tendentiously on images of violence and conflict that often are there to ‘shock, titillate, but never to challenge or to raise questions’ (Webster 1980: 221). Images of violence at demonstrations ‘invite the public as a whole to regard all such “protest” as strategically pointless and personally dangerous’ (Barnett 2000: 52). In contrast to the documentation of the ‘strategic’ practice of photojournalism, my photographie féminine concerned the tactical carnivalesque aspects. Bakhtin’s (1984) notion of the carnivalesque, elaborated by literary theorists, is a form of cultural resistance. It is something that is developed when the performances twist, mutate, and invert standard themes of societal makeup. It involves focusing and picturing elements that convey some form of tension, either through performance, and/or interesting juxtapositions within the photographic frame. Isaak (1996: 20) insists that the carnivalesque ‘is an instrument

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Figure 6.5 Buenos Aires (No. 1), 2008

not only for a feminist analysis of texts, but also for feminist artistic production and cultural politics in general’, that in turn, I add, has the possibility to queer the civic space, by questioning the heteronormative assumptions and/or highlighting what is concerned ‘othered’. My photographic work draws attention and disorients the capitalist spaces which ‘come to be fields of action for certain bodies only’ (Vitry 2020: 939). In particular, I am interested in drawing attention to bodies of resistance. Acts of defiance, or to reiterate the concept, a ‘matter out of place’ in which a space is transformed from the everyday to something extra, is a resonant theme in my work. My images of the Madres of the Plaza de Mayo, in Buenos Aires, Argentina, also attempt to foreground the uncanny. These are images of the mothers and grandmothers of those victims of the military (the lost loved ones called ‘Desaparecidos’, or disappeared ones) who have met and protested every Thursday afternoon since the mid-1970s. As Antonius Robben asserts, ‘the existing patriarchal structure that valorised motherhood with the “insistence upon the woman’s sacrifice for and obedience to the family and to her children” had “backfired on the military as women have demanded to know what has happened to their sons and daughters’ (Robben 2007: 261). My photographs attempt to express their sense of empowerment and taking over of public space. The women ‘are an example of sustained collective action that has little precedent in Latin America and the world in general’ (Bosco 2001: 313). In my photographs, gender and generational identities are in focus.The older matriarchal woman in the street may also be seen as reclaiming space, and challenges the notion of the mother’s relegation to the home, to the secluded domestic sphere (Allmark 2002: 5). There have been various outcomes of my visual work: as well as being used for teaching resources, I have published photo-essays and critical pieces, such as journal articles and book chapters, drawing together a cultural studies approach to the reading of images. My images are placed within wider discourses to illustrate trends in critical enquiry. For example, in my academic article ‘Flagging Australia: photographs of banal nationalism’, I was interested in ‘how a sense of place and national identity are continually being flagged in the aesthetics of Australian contemporary consumer culture’ (Allmark 2007: 1). As a photographer and researcher, it has been crucial to be able to articulate my practice, but an approach which presents some challenges. For example,

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Figure 6.6 Buenos Aires (No. 2), 2008

at times my photography is instinctual. I merely take a photograph because I find the subject interesting. The challenge lies in delving deeper into what makes the subject and photograph interesting. How does it conform to what has been done before? How does it build upon, comment on, and develop wider critical enquiry? The highly constructive nature of photography to create a differing ‘reality’ opens up the possibility of the ‘third effect’. A ‘third effect’ meaning can be generated from the juxtaposition of the image, with text or other images, which was not inherent in the image seen in isolation (Walker 1997: 56). Most of my work has been exhibited in art exhibitions. Within the art forum at times, it tends to lose its textual political base, as images are open to be read in many ways, and the images may be rendered within a passive aesthetic status. However, through networking, I have been invited to exhibit work in conjunction with cultural studies conferences or events. An example of this is a solo exhibition titled ‘Visual Love Categories’ held in conjunction with the Australian Women’s and Gender Studies Association Conference in Perth, 2008. The theme of the conference was vision, memory and spectacle, and the work combined with the theme ‘beautifully’, and was intended to bring artistic stimulation (Baker 2008). Another example where my images worked in collaboration with a conference was the ‘Interrogating Trauma Media and Art Responses International Conference’, in which the images of the Madres of the Plaza de Mayo as well as a series of images taken after the London bombings (2005) were displayed. In 2016 my work on shopping malls and spectacle was exhibited in a London gallery, in a solo exhibition. This work contained juxtapositions and double reflections that focus on gender and the culture of capitalism. The opportunity to present work and artist talks in the gallery space enables my work to be seen on a larger visual scale, thus drawing attention to the uncanny in magnified proportions, and following a tenet of photographie féminine of the re-examination of our connection to

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Framing a Photographie Féminine 253 the world. My overall visual methodology, which requires engagement in capturing a mood, as well as framing interesting juxtapositions, conveys dialectical images that pose questions, rather than presenting answers. It is about contemplation of the world we live in rather than confirmation of how it is.

Critical Questions 1. Consider the process of using juxtaposition of visual phenomena. Can you cite examples of this in art and documentary photography or film? In what way are such dualities related to Benjamin’s dialectical images discussed earlier in this book? 2. Are there subjects near where you live which would make these significant contrasts? Consider framing this scene. What would the juxtaposition achieve in terms of social – political meanings? 3. Why is there a problematic tension between the aesthetic and the photodocumentary? 4. What are the political, social and ethical ramifications of taking pictures in social settings? How does Allmark include these concerns in her practice?

References Allmark, P. (2002) ‘Urban exposures.Transformations: regions, culture and society’, 5. Online. www. cqu.edu.au/transfor mations (accessed 28 December 2009). Allmark, P. (2007) ‘Flagging Australia: photographs of banal nationalism’, Illumina, 2. Online. http:// illumina.scca.ecu.edu.au/journal_view.php?rec_id=0000000041 (accessed 28 December 2009). Allmark, P. (2008) ‘Framing Plaza de Mayo: photographs of protest’, Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies, 22, 6 December. Allmark, P. (2008) ‘Traversing one’s space: photography and the feminine’, in G. Backhaus and J. Murungi (eds) Symbolic Landscapes. Geographical Sensibilities in the Arts, Dordrecht and London: Springer. Allmark, P. (2020) ‘Dangerous women feminism: female pop music artists’ concert tours and the hostility that has ensued’, in B. Yanikaya and A.M. Nairn (eds) Multidisciplinary Perspectives on Women,Voice, and Agency, IGI Global, pp. 134–158. Baker, J. (2008) ‘Vision, memory, spectacle’, Report presented at the Australian Women’s and Gender Studies Association conference, Outskirts: Feminisms Along the Edge, 19. Online. www. chloe.uwa.edu.au/outskirts/archive/volume 19/baker (accessed 28 December 2009). Bakhtin, M. (1984) Rabelais and His World, trans. H. Iswolsky, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Barnett, B. (2000) ‘Why radicals need a history lesson’, The Ecologist, 30(5): 52–53. Benjamin, W. (1979) ‘A small history of photography’, in his One Way Street, London: Verso, pp. 240–257. Bosco, F J. (2001) ‘Place, pace, networks, and the sustainability of collective action. The Madres de Plaza de Mayo’, Global Networks, 1(4): 307–327. Buck-Morss, S. (1989) The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project, Cambridge, MA: MIT. Cixous, H. (1976) ‘Fiction and its phantoms: a reading of Freud’s “Das unheimliche”’, New Literary History, 7: 525–548. Clarke, G. (1997) The Photograph. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 27–33. Also, online as ‘How do we read a photograph?’ www.aber.ac.uk/media/Modules/MC10220/reading_photos.html (accessed 28 December 2009).

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254 Research Practices in Focus De Certeau, M. (1985) ‘Practices of space’, in M. Blonsky (ed.) On Signs, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 122–145. Douglas, M. (1966) Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, London: Ark. Freud, S. (1958) ‘The uncanny’, in his On Creativity and the Unconscious: Papers on the Psychology of Art, Literature, Love, Religion, New York: Harper & Row, pp. 122–161. Giblett, R. (1996) Postmodern Wetlands: Culture, History, Ecology, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Grosz, E. (1995) ‘Women, chora, dwelling’, in S. Watson and K. Gibson (eds) Postmodern Cities and Spaces, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 47–58. Grundberg, A. (1990) Crisis of the Real:Writings on Photography, New York: Aperture Foundation. Haraway, D. (1989) ‘Teddy bear patriarchy in the garden of Eden’, in her Primate Visions: Gender, Race, and Nature in the World of Modern Science, New York: Routledge, pp. 26–58. Isaak, J. (1996) Feminism and Contemporary Art: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Laughter, New York: Routledge. Lacks, C. (1987) ‘Documentary photography: a way of looking at ourselves’, unpublished PhD thesis, Saint Louis University, Saint Louis. Lifson, B. (1980) ‘Introduction’, in Eugene Atget, New York: Aperture, pp. 1–9. Massey, D. (1994) Space, Place and Gender, Cambridge: Polity Press. Minh-ha, Trinh T. (1993) ‘All-owning spectatorship’, in S. Gunew and A. Yeatman (eds) Feminism and the Politics of Difference, St Leonards, NSW: Allen & Unwin, pp. 157–176. Morris, M. (1992) ‘Great moments in social climbing: King Kong and the human fly’, in B. Colomina (ed.) Sexuality and Space, New York: Princeton Architectural Press, pp. 1–52. Paglia, C. (1990) Sexual Personae, London and New Haven:Yale University Press. Phipps, P. (2006) ‘Michel Leiris: master of ethnographic failure’, in U. Rao and J. Hutnyk (eds) Celebrating Transgression: Method and Politics in Anthropological Studies of Culture, New York: Berghahn Books, pp. 183–194. Robben, A.C.G.M. (2007) ‘Mourning and mistrust in civil–military relations in post-Dirty War Argentina’, in F. Ferrandiz and A.C.G.M. Robben (eds) Multidisciplinary Perspectives on Peace and Conflict Research, Bilbao: University of Deusto, pp. 253–270. Rose, G. (1993) Feminism and Geography: The Limits of Geographical Knowledge, Cambridge, MA: Polity Press. Rose, G. (2001) Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to the Interpretation of Visual Materials, London: Sage. Sellers, S. (1996) Hélène Cixous: Authorship, Autobiography and Love, Cambridge: Polity Press. Spencer, S. (2009) ‘Drifting visions and dialectical images: everyday paradoxes in a northern city’, Illumina, 3. Online. http://illumina.scca.ecu.edu.au/ (accessed 28 December 2009). Venturi, R. (1998) Learning from Las Vegas:The Forgotten Symbolism of Architectural Form, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Vitry, C. (2020) ‘Queering space and organizing with Sara Ahmed’s Queer Phenomenology’, Gender, Work and Organization, 28(3): 935–949. Special Issue: Feminist Solidarity: Practices, Politics and Possibilities. https://doi.org/10.1111/gwao.12560 Walker, P.J. (1997) ‘Documentary photography in the postmodern era’, unpublished thesis, Doctor of Art, New York University. Webster, F. (1980) The New Photography: Responsibility in Visual Communication, New York: Riverrun.

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Mixing Mediums and Methods Practice-Led Research into Interactive Screen-Based Production and Reception Sarah Atkinson

Introduction This chapter reflects upon the research design of a practice-based PhD project which creatively interrogated audience perceptions of digital interactive storytelling. The practice element of the project – Crossed Lines (2002–2007 Dir: Sarah Atkinson) is an original fictional interactive film installation. Eighteen years on from its creation, the chapter revises and recontextualizes the project’s contribution to contemporary interactive screen-media forms, which combine traditional research methods with new digital approaches. At the time that the project was undertaken, there were very few examples of audience studies into the reception of interactive cinema, this was due to three key reasons: first, the limited number of contemporary examples that had been produced at the time; second, the challenges of accessing those that had been produced due to commercial protections, as well as their transience and ephemerality as media forms, and third, the challenges of monitoring and mapping the complexity of audience participation within these examples due to the multi-dimensional nature of engagement and the multitude of interactional possibilities. I therefore adopted the process of making as a central form of critical enquiry. I began (in 2002) with the initial idea that I wanted to create an interactive film that broke new ground and moved beyond the creative attempts that preceded it, including the ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ book format (1979–98) which – despite its limitations and production challenges – remains a key reference point for pieces produced at the time and those that have since followed (including Bandersnatch, Netflix, 2018). Practice-based research PhDs, within which the researcher’s own practice is foregrounded as the primary method and new knowledge generated through practice, are commonplace within art, design, creative media, performance, humanities and new media disciplines. I would contend that only through the experience of engagement in the production process can one appreciate and attend to the creative possibilities, limitations, and challenges of industrialised forms such as cinema, television and gaming. The aim of the thesis was threefold: • • •

To create and develop an original and distinctive interactive cinema storytelling installation. To offer insights into methods of audience-based analysis suited to new media interactive narrative texts. To advance debates and practice concerning the intervention of new media technologies and practices into cinematic forms and filmic narratives. DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-11

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256 Research Practices in Focus In order to address these aims, two key research questions were pursued: • •

How do different interactive dramatic and narrative techniques affect storytelling processes and experiences? What techniques can be developed and/or employed to track and evaluate user navigation and engagement?

In addition to designing and creating the interactive cinema installation, the thesis also encompassed audience testing and evaluation – interrogating levels of interactivity, immersion, engagement and enjoyment. In order to capture this multi-dimensional complexity, a multi-methodological approach was required. The research design combined traditional social science methods with visual analysis and cutting-edge digital approaches. Quantitative methodologies included the use of inbuilt user tracking systems where the computational output of the installation was designed to generate measurements and timings of user choices and behaviours.This was combined with the output of eye-tracking technologies and new data visualisation tools. Qualitative methodologies included theoretical and visual analysis, and an in-depth evaluation of user responses using interviews, questionnaires, observations and video recordings.

Crossed Lines: Influences and Inspiration Crossed Lines drew from a number of cinematic progenitors. First, it is a multi-plot film telling the stories of nine characters in a way that the viewer can constantly explore and switch between all nine characters and their associated narratives, and can simultaneously witness the presence of all of the characters between their nine remote locations through a multi-screen interface (see Figure 7.1). The starting point of this unique piece was to conceive a series of compelling narratives that could be viewed as individual stories, but would also reference and link to the other stories, as is the case of the multi-plot film genre. As Robert McKee has noted, ‘multi-plot films never develop a central plot; rather they weave together a number of stories of subplot size’ (1998: 227). Exemplar multi-plot films include Shortcuts (1993, Dir. Robert Altman), which traces the actions of twenty-two principal characters, both in parallel and at occasional points of connection, and Magnolia (1999, Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson), with its nine separate, yet connected storylines. Secondly, Crossed Lines uses multi-screen visual techniques. The split screen had been used on numerous occasions throughout cinematic history, to show two sides of a telephone conversation simultaneously. Perhaps the first example of this was in 1901 in James Williamson’s Are You There? An explosion of the use of split screen in fiction film occurred at the turn of the twenty-first century; examples included Run Lola Run (1998, Dir. Tom Twyker), Requiem for a Dream (2000, Dir. Darren Aronofsky), The Laramie Project (2002, Dir. Moises Kaufman) and Hulk (2003, Dir. Ang Lee). As Julie Talen noted, ‘the splintered aesthetic of multichannel storytelling – once the province of the ‘60’s avant-garde is suddenly everywhere’ (2002). The proliferation of this aesthetic was in part due to developments in digital nonlinear editing and post-production technologies and is exemplified in Timecode (2001, Dir. Mike Figgis). Timecode was presented as a screen split into quarters and involved twenty characters whose screen space and stories overlapped and shifted throughout the ninetyminute feature, which was shot by four cameras in real-time. TV drama series which have also adopted this aesthetic include the UK’s Trial and Retribution (2002) and 24 (2002) in the US. Director Stephen Hopkins says he first got the idea for 24 because ‘there were so many phone calls in the script that these people would never share any screen time

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Figure 7.1 The Crossed Lines screen presentation: all nine screens are visible throughout the film

Figure 7.2 The Crossed Lines telephone interface: the telephone keys numbered 1–9 simply map onto the nine screens

together … I loved the idea of showing what people were saying on the phone but also what they didn’t want other people to see’ (in Talen 2002). Crossed Lines built on all of these stylistic modes whilst being delivered through an interactive interface paradigm, meaning that the viewer had the power to navigate and order the stories themselves, and to create a story of varying complexity depending on the number of different characters that were selected through the interface. In 1987, Joyce and Bolter imagined fictions in which: Stability and certainty … disappear (and) there may no longer be one plot but several, and characters may no longer develop in a consistent fashion. The structure and rhythm of the text will be different for each reading (with) every element … subject to electronic fragmentation and reconfiguration. (1987: 130)

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258 Research Practices in Focus It was precisely these imagined fictions that I wanted to attempt to realise within my own research practice whilst actively examining the technological and practical possibilities and constraints of realising what would be a complex endeavour. At the time, interactive interfaces became more commonplace within the DVD mode of delivery whereby the viewer of such content is ‘no longer merely an observer but a user of the film’ (Himmelsbach 2003: 236). Films such as My Little Eye (2002, Dir. Mark Evans) included an alternative interactive version on DVD, using a web browser interface to effectively enhance the narrative, which was centred on a reality-show webcast (see Atkinson 2007). Another example, Tender Loving Care (2000, Dir. David Wheeler), allowed the viewer to navigate and witness alternative content dependent on their responses to psychological questioning that they were subjected to after each chapter of the film. Crossed Lines reflected and responded to all of these aesthetic trends of the time: the proliferation of multi-plot films; the widespread use of the split screen as a narrative device in film and television; and the increasing user interaction afforded by new DVD technologies; amalgamating these formats into a more fluid and advanced interactional framing.

Crossed Lines: The Installation Crossed Lines was presented on a large-scale monitor showing nine screens of simultaneous video (see Figure 7.3), which were designed to be controlled by the use of a physical analogue telephone interface. The nine numerical buttons of the telephone keypad mirrored the layout of the nine video screens, establishing a firm visual relationship between the interface and screen (see Figure 7.2). A familiar, simple and efficient user interface was used intentionally since it was a ubiquitous piece of hardware that could be operated intuitively, with no or very minimal instruction for the user. Furthermore, as McLuhan stated, ‘the telephone demands complete participation’ (1997: 267) and as

Figure 7.3 The Crossed Lines cinematic installation: a viewer interacts with the large-scale version of the film

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Practice-Led Research: Mediums and Methods 259 such immersivity was built into both the form of the interactional device and the telephonic themes of the narrative. On the nine screens, the user is faced by nine characters each of whom are seen or will be seen as the narrative progresses, on the telephone, and then communicating with one another solely through the use of the telephone. In Crossed Lines the user presses one of the keys (numbers 1–9), and the result of their interaction is then immediately apparent on the corresponding screen in that a dramatic action is triggered, for example, a phone rings or someone walks into frame, thus giving the audience member an immediate sense of user agency. The user listens to the audio and dialogue through the telephone earpiece. In technical terms, what the user’s key press actually activated was a switch in video streams. The corresponding screen (numbered 1–9, in exactly the same way that the phone keys are positioned; the numbers run chronologically from left to right, top to bottom) changes to a new scene, as does one or more of the other screens depending on which characters are in conversation.This is consistent throughout the entire piece. It is therefore apparent to the user early on in the experience that they are ordering and constructing the narrative. The back-end computer scripting worked in such a way that the scenes were chronologically ordered for reasons of narrative coherence, and once a scene had been viewed, it was no longer made accessible to the viewer. The approach taken to the production of the installation was to purposefully heighten and enhance the experience of the multiple narratives; and to encourage user engagement and immersion by mixing the familiar mediums and technologies of the phone, cinema, games and television. The aspect ratio of the nine screens is more akin to a television set and its 4:3 dimensions than it is to a 16:9 cinema screen.The use of digital video also contributed to the installation’s televisual aesthetic. The mode of viewing and interaction is also a contributing factor to this experiential similitude: ‘the possibility of simultaneously observing a few images that co-exist within one screen can be compared with the phenomenon of zapping – the quick switching of television channels that allows the viewer to follow more than one programme’ (Manovich 2001: 97). The nature of the technologies that were deployed within the creative process clearly influenced and affected the narrative direction and approaches to the development of the interactive film, which I shall now outline. Process The entire production process from scriptwriting to the final installation took place over a five-year period (2002–07) and involved nine principal cast members, numerous crew personnel, technicians, programmers, various cameras, audio recording equipment, the fastest computer processors available at the time, reams of cable and a precariously soldered analogue telephone. Scriptwriting This process was undertaken over the course of a year. The key challenge was to create a set of authentic contemporaneous narratives, that reflected socio-cultural norms and practices of the time. So many narrative works that deploy emergent technologies in their production have an innate tendency to centralise and showcase those new technologies within the themes of the film (often within the science-fiction genre). In the case of Crossed Lines, the intention was to conceal the new technologies of real-time interactive video through the low-fi use of analogue telephone communications. This was at a key moment before the advent of mass mobile-phone usage (only one mobile phone is used

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260 Research Practices in Focus as a prop in Crossed Lines, since take-up in the early 2000s was limited). Practitionerfocused and how-to literature (such as Costello (2004), Friedman (2006), Garrand (1997) and Handler Miller (2004)) was drawn from in order to inform my process and to develop understandings of the emergent conventions of interactive fiction production. Initial research and character preparation involved interviewing a telephone Samaritan, a telephone psychic, and various people who had worked in call-centres, drawing from instances of their verbatim dialogue that they actually used, in order to maintain realism within the narratives. The writing of the script was approached by first developing nine identifiable and clearly defined characters, and then mapping the various different and complex relationships between them. Contrasting character types were strategically chosen and developed. Action between the characters was broken down into conversational scenes – the motivation point of the commencement of each scene was signalled by a telephone ring which was triggered by the viewer’s key press. Each scene ended when a character’s telephone was put down. It was essential to structure the narrative segments in this way; as O’Meara has observed,‘every experience in an interactive ought to be a tiny story or scene. Even if it’s short, it still needs to have a beginning, middle and end’ (in Garrand 1997: 76). Given the problems that can arise within a potentially fractured viewing experience, in what has been scripted as a fully formed narrative, the challenge of ensuring that viewers received essential expositional elements was paramount, as Garrand describes: The same information will have to appear in a number of different scenes, but it can’t be presented in exactly the same way or the player will become bored with hearing it on repeated viewings. Instead, the writer has to feed the essential information into all the possible story tracks but do it differently each time. (Garrand 1997: 76) The conversations in Crossed Lines are by their very nature ‘dialogue heavy’, since characters are inclined to explicitly state their intentions whilst conversing on the telephone. The usual screenwriting rule of using ‘visual before aural’ indicators (Costello 2004: 82) did not apply in this instance, especially given the fact that the conventional cinematic tools such as camera movement, shot changes, non-diegetic sound and music are all absent. Costello encourages the writer to omit unnecessary dialogue, if the same information can be given visually, but this economical approach to language was not appropriate given the nature of all the scenes and the emphasised actuality of the piece. Cinematic codes and conventions are once again not appropriate, further hybridising the piece – which in many cases was televisual in its form, content and potential reception. In terms of approaching the formatting of the script, Friedman claims that ‘no clearly defined format has come to the fore such as those that exist for the film and television worlds’ (2006: 266), and Handler Miller had asserted that ‘formats for interactive scripts vary widely. Sometimes they resemble the format for feature films, but incorporate instructions for interactive situations’ (2004: 197). As Friedman went on to state, ‘writing for interactive media will require a new layout to accommodate not only more elements of media production but also the non-linear form and the interactive possibilities of the program’ (2006: 254). In the case of Crossed Lines a traditional scripting format was augmented to identify the scene and screen numbers. These scene numbers precede the master scene line in every instance, as shown in the script excerpt below. The first digit refers to the grid number in which the scene is visible, and the second is a shooting script number, to identify the sequence of scenes to be shot during the production phase.

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Practice-Led Research: Mediums and Methods 261 NINE INDIVIDUAL SCREENS, POSITIONED IN A GRID THREE BY THREE In each we see a character. 1.1. INT. JAMES’ OFFICE – DAY James sits at a candlelit desk, next to a telephone, shuffling a deck of tarot cards. 2.2. INT. MARTIN’S OFFICE – DAY – SAME Martin is in a darkened attic room; the light of a computer screen illuminates his face as he frantically taps into a keyboard; he stares intently at the computer screen, biting his lip and concentrating. I used a piece of software called Sophocles (produced by Tim Sheehan which is now defunct) during the scriptwriting phase, which included a suite of analysis and visualisation tools which drew from statistical data generated by the screenplay document. Screen times and character relationships could be identified and represented in both statistical and pictorial form. I produced visualisations of character relations as a tool to ensure that all screen time and action time for the nine characters in Crossed Lines was equal. This ensured that during the latter phases of user testing, robust conclusions could be drawn with regard to storyline and character popularity, having actively reduced any inbuilt bias which may otherwise have been caused by the fact that some characters had considerably more dialogue or screen time than others. In addition to all dialogue, the script also had to include descriptions of action during non-conversational moments – while a viewer is witnessing a particular conversation, action continues in each of the remaining nine ‘non-conversational’ frames. During these times – we see the other characters in looped action, waiting for a call or going about their business. For each scene it was therefore essential that all nine screens were scripted in the way shown above, even if there was no dialogue for a particular character. A visual description of this action was essential, since, dependent on the temporal moment in the story, the characters in the non-conversational frames would be poised in a particular way, which would be indicative of their current narrative stage and psychological state in each of their individual narrative arcs. In screen seven, for example, Gary, the inhabitant of the phone box, becomes increasingly agitated as the narrative progresses as he either swigs from a bottle of rum, or props himself against the phone as he becomes increasingly inebriated. Similarly, Julie, in screen three, stranded in her broken-down car, becomes visibly anxious as night falls: her camera switches to night vision as the light levels lower, heightening the sense of urgency and threat. The viewer witnesses her increased anxiety over time as she is, unknowingly, telephonically stalked by Martin, the character who inhabits his phone-hacking world within screen five. The script included a visual guide indicating the layout and the corresponding numbering of the scenes to enable those working on the project to have a greater understanding of the structure of the piece (see Atkinson 2009: 121). However, since the variation in order and structure of the script was set in motion by the viewer’s various interactions, the script itself could not communicate each individual audience member’s experience of the film, and the multitude of narrative sequencings that were possible.That could only be gleaned through the retrospective analysis of audience engagement which revealed the different routes taken and the varying levels of audience interactivity. The approach and findings of this analysis will be summarised below, but first, an outline of the production process will be provided.

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Production All scenes were filmed in the summer of 2003. Each character was shot individually in separate locations (see Figures 7.3, 7.4 and 7.5). The actors heard the dialogue to respond to through a hidden earpiece. In later shoots, the actors heard the pre-recorded dialogue through the earpiece, with which they then had to respond to in synchronicity.This posed a unique challenge since dialogue had to fit exactly and the overlapping of speech had to be avoided to maintain legibility, coherence and verisimilitude. The choice of a static locked-off camera in all nine scenes provided a visual consistency; each of the frames needed to be similar in both composition and shot size and action needed to be relatively equal, so that no one frame was favoured, and viewers could not be influenced in their selections on this basis. This was a conceptual and thematic decision and functioned as a narrative device since the locked-off and passive camera is a visual signifier of surveillance.This is echoed in the use of the viewer’s listening or eavesdropping device; the telephone handset. The sense of surveillance is also emphasised in the fact that Crossed Lines does not break the ‘fourth-wall convention’, which differentiates it from many examples of interactive narratives whereby the user is directly addressed by a character in a callto-action scenario; examples include I’m Your Man (1992, Dir. Bob Bejan), Tender Loving Care (1997, Dir. David Wheeler) and Stab in the Dark (2001, Dir. David Landau). The fourth-wall convention is upheld by the actors who ‘treat the open stage as a fourth

Figure 7.4 Crossed Lines in production: the construction of the set for the character in screen 7

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Figure 7.5 Crossed Lines in production: the director, Sarah Atkinson, on set with actor Alan Carr who plays the character in screen 2

Figure 7.6 Crossed Lines in production: the director, Sarah Atkinson, on set with actor Lloyd Peters who plays the character in screen 5

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264 Research Practices in Focus wall without betraying any awareness of being observed, [which] places the spectator in a voyeuristic position’ (Stam 2000). The viewer as voyeur in Crossed Lines is also reminiscent of Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954, Dir. Alfred Hitchcock) in which the central character of the film, L.B. Jeffries, observes his neighbours as ‘framed genre pantomimes […] so many small cages, so many small theatres, in which each actor is alone, perfectly individualised and constantly visible’ (Stam 2000). These observations could be applied to both the aesthetic and content of Crossed Lines, within which the nine frames represent nine windows depicting nine separate tableaux where the characters play out their lives within the confines of the space and the genre conventions to which they have been assigned. A mid-shot was selected as the most appropriate shot size since it provided a relatively close and detailed view of the character and also allowed key elements of the locale to be shown. This was also enhanced through the various atmospheric audio beds that were used to provide the audience with further environmental information, e.g. the sound of keyboards tapping and constant chatter can be heard in screen two to indicate the character’s context within a busy, open-plan call-centre.

Post-Production and Interactive Authoring During post-production, all conversational scenes were matched and synchronised with one another using digital video editing software, and in the case of any overlapping dialogue, frames were trimmed to maintain audibility and fluidity in order to sustain an impression of real-time liveness. To emphasise the theme of voyeurism and surveillance within the piece, each individual scene was shot as one continuous take with no cuts in either sound or picture, to give the viewer the impression that they were experiencing the events in real time.This is not a common aesthetic convention of cinema, with scarce notable points of reference available at the time. A classic example is Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope (1948), which disguised the cut points so the drama appeared to play out in real-time, and more recently genuine real-time shooting was seen in Timecode (2001, Dir. Mike Figgis). One-take cinema has been popularised of late (see Atkinson 2017), where some films are genuinely shot as one take, such as Victoria (2015, Dir. Sebastian Schipper) and Lost in London (2018, Dir. Woody Harrelson), whilst others have ‘tricked’ this aesthetic using concealed cut points, just as Hitchcock did, and include Birdman (2014, Dir. Alejandro G. Iñárritu) and 1917 (2019, Dir. Sam Mendes). In Crossed Lines events appear to play out in real and in correct chronological time order, emphasising both the authenticity and liveness of the piece. Audience responses were sought during this phase and shaped my approach to the development of the project. Ongoing prototype user tests were undertaken throughout the interactive authoring period to gauge viewer perception, particularly around the issue of user agency and how this was communicated to the viewer when they pressed a button on the telephone keypad. With the exception of some scenes where a phone rang, it was initially evident through user feedback that it was not apparent to the viewer which screens were becoming active at the start of a conversational exchange. Several remedies were applied to this problem, including visual cues and audible beeps that were triggered when the viewer pressed a button. The visual white noise interference effect with an accompanying sound effect was chosen as the optimum alert and was consistent with the television analogy since white noise is associated with analogue signal interference. The interactivity of Crossed Lines was authored in the Lingo scripting environment of Director (originally produced by Macromedia from 1987 to 2009 before being

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Practice-Led Research: Mediums and Methods 265 transferred to Adobe in 2008–2017). Lingo was the primary programming language on the ‘Shockwave’ platform, which dominated the interactive multimedia product market during the 1990s. It was chosen to be the most appropriate software since, at the time, it was commonly considered as the industry standard package for authoring interactive projects, particularly those that included film and video. The interactive interface was created at the end of the production process by crudely modifying a cheaply manufactured telephone to encapsulate USB computer keyboard technology.This was then connected to the computer along with an audio cable to enable the viewer to hear the sound of the film through the telephone handset.

Audience Testing In order to present a rigorous and holistic analysis of audience engagement, the research design included a combination of new digital methods with traditional quantitative and qualitative approaches. Fifty research participants were enlisted – twenty-five in an individual environment and twenty-five in a group computer laboratory setting. The participants were drawn from a broad age range (18–67). The first digital method was enabled through a secondary level of scripting which had been incorporated into the Director application for the specific purpose of enabling data to be generated concerning the following: the time spent in the different scenes, the different routes chosen by different users, character and storyline popularity, and the overall length of the story experience for each user. This data was then visualised to build patterns of how the different story content had been viewed and accessed (see Atkinson 2009: ch. 7, where the various graphical representations are presented). This data set was triangulated with a second data set generated through eye-tracking of audience members as they engaged with the installation. This provided crucial insights into understanding the specific mode of spectatorship of interactive environments and the kind of ‘watching’ that was being demanded. Little consideration had been given to this aspect in any other study at the time. The notion of the sustained cinematic gaze already works in opposition to television’s mode of viewing, which has been referred to as the ‘regime of the glance’ (Ellis 1982) – television viewing behaviours tend to be fractured and distracted. Since Crossed Lines was a hybridised format of cinema, television and game, eye-tracking was used as a method to explore whether audiences were gazing, glancing or engaging in other forms of viewing behaviour. I collaborated with computer science researchers engaging in an existing eye-tracking research project. They had developed a head-eyetracking software which used ‘an open-source library which takes as data input a user’s head position, head orientation and eye data from any device giving the freedom to the developer for manipulating the resulting combined data’ (Morris, Rodriguez-Echavarria and Arnold 2008). Using their ‘Point of Regard (PoR)’ system, ten Crossed Lines audience members were eye-tracked during their engagement with the installation. The headmounted hardware and software system tracked the path of the user’s pupil. The data was then visualised to show the user’s eye activity during the installation experience from the text-based file generated by the PoR head-eye-tracking software. This text incorporated a date and time stamp, and the x and y coordinates of the user’s eye position.The raw data generated was extensive and unwieldly – thirty lines of this data equated to one second of time, and there were approximately 80,000 lines’ worth of text generated for each user. The researchers used visualisation tools to present this data in an accessible visual format

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Figure 7.7 The ‘gaze plots’ that were generated through tracking the audience head and eye movements during their experience of viewing Crossed Lines. These four images represent four different participants viewing exactly the same scene.

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Practice-Led Research: Mediums and Methods 267 for the purposes of my analysis (see Figure 7.7). The data was cross-referenced with the first Director-generated data set to reveal any correlations between the user’s point of interest and the decisions made to press certain phone keys at particular times. The clocks of both analysis systems were synchronised to provide accurate time stamps on data. The data was visualised in the form of both videos and still images – pictured in Figure 7.7 which depicts a gaze plot overlaid onto a still image of the Crossed Lines visual interface. Key scenes were then identified where there was a clear comparative pattern (i.e. where multiple audience members had viewed the same scene for a comparable length of time). Through the gaze plots a range of different viewing behaviours emerged, which included gazing for prolonged periods at specific characters or scenes (identified by a dense clustering at a focused point); glancing across the interface to refocus attention on an alternative scene (identified by a dense but scattered clustering); and glimpsing across the interface at different points (identified by scattered singular plot points). In summary, it was revealed that viewers could listen and digest the information from one exchange, whilst viewing action within the other characters’ screens, in readiness for their next interactive decision. This was identified as a common behaviour across all users regardless of age and gender and suggests that audience members were actively pre-empting their next interaction throughout the experience. In order to provide deepened insights and understandings into the cognitive and emotional reactions of audience members – which are clearly absent in the outputs of the digital methods – all participants were given a written questionnaire of fifty-two questions to answer immediately after using the installation. The purpose of this was to ascertain various elements of ethnographic data and to build a picture of people’s attitudes and experiences.The data was then analysed using SPSS. A group of seventeen users were also questioned in further detail immediately after the experience on a one-to-one basis, in an open format to express more freely what they felt about their experiences. These interviews were recorded on video, transcribed and coded. Findings that were identified as statistically significant from the questionnaire data were then more fully discussed and illustrated by relevant excerpts taken from the audience interviews. One such finding was that younger participants enjoying the experience of eavesdropping much more than older users. By mapping the audience’s actual physical interactive engagements (through button presses and visual focus) to their own verbal responses, thoughts and reflections, a comprehensive picture of audience engagement was provided.The full results of which are published in the final thesis, but for the purposes of this essay, the multi-methodological approach has been outlined and rationalised, presenting a model of research design for interactive screen-based production and reception.

Conclusion Viewed as a text, Crossed Lines can be seen as a piece of visual historiography of human communications in an analogue era, pre-mass mobile use, revealing the bounded nature in time and space of analogue communications, which are in stark contrast to the increasing porosity of digital communications media. Viewed as a multimedia artefact, Crossed Lines takes its place within a genealogy of the evolution of media art – providing an important visual record of both the aesthetics and capabilities of the multimedia and digital video technologies of the late 1990s and early 2000s. Crossed Lines continues to feature as an exemplary case study in a core field-defining text – Handler Miller’s Digital Storytelling: A Creator’s Guide to Interactive Entertainment (2019 saw the publication of its fourth edition). Viewed as a research project, Crossed Lines explored and advanced both the practice and

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Figure 7.8 The Crossed Lines installation on the road: at the International Conference in Interactive Digital Storytelling (ICIDS), Guimarães, Portugal, December 2009

theorisation of interactive cinema through the creative application of ground-breaking interactive video technologies. The practice-based research approach harnessed the newfound accessibility of digital video, its creative affordances and its capacity to be interactively programmed and to generate usable metadata for research and enquiry. Practice-based PhDs continue to flourish in arts and humanities disciplines. Indeed, my own work became a model case study in a core text covering Theatre and Performance methods (Dixon 2011) and I myself have since both supervised and examined numerous practice-based theses where the students have critically engaged in virtual reality and mixed reality production. Such projects continue to harness the very same technologies which are used to create outputs to critically interrogate their creative application, affordances, and reception. The observations and insights achieved within these works and my own could only be rendered visible and examinable through the process of their creation. Researchers focused upon digital phenomena therefore need to be equipped with digital capabilities more than ever, in order to fully exploit both the creative and analytical potential of digital tools and applications through mixed method research design. The mixing of traditional social science with visual and digital methods in order to generate holistic and comprehensive understandings of complex visual forms was central to my project. The development of interdisciplinary approaches between computer scientists and arts and humanities researchers was also key to my work, and researchers need to continually evolve fruitful collaboration with one another by crossing disciplines in order to unify and cohere their respective research questions. I have taken these principles forward in later work, and of course, each new encounter with screen-based interactive forms will require a different balance and approach. In another piece, for example (Kennedy and Atkinson 2018), we proposed a ‘virtual-reality ethnography’ methodology and evolved a framework of attention through which to engage with and research the emergent complex experiences being conceived and delivered through VR and 360-degree film-making and experience design.

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Practice-Led Research: Mediums and Methods 269 Despite the eighteen years that have elapsed since the completion of Crossed Lines, the principles, challenges and opportunities still pertain. This retrospective reflection has enabled me to review the contribution my thesis has made to the development of visual research methodologies and approaches when encountering interactive and experiential screen-based media. The rapid advances and widespread commercialisation of real-time video technologies (which include virtual reality and virtual production) mean that the screen-based practice methods developed within my thesis still remain applicable in 2022 and are perhaps more valid than ever. For example, there is renewed interest in interactive cinema and television production from both the industry and researchers (Koenitz et al. 2015; Fordyce and Apperley 2021). The creative advancement of real-time interaction with digital video technologies and techniques, the immediacy and liveness of these forms and the transient engagements that they foster are now embedded into our everyday interactions, making their impacts and effects more difficult to discern, yet increasingly important to capture and understand.

Critical Questions 1. Identify a specific case study of interactive screen-based media (a game, installation or experience). What combination of methods would you employ to investigate this and why? 2. What are the potential challenges and barriers to researching audience engagement in contemporary screen media installations, environments and experiences? How can these be overcome? 3. In what instance would the process of making as a central form of critical enquiry be most appropriate and fruitful? What interdisciplinary combinations would be appropriate? 4. What issues emerge when the researcher is the artist or creator – and therefore an integral facet of the research problem under investigation? How can these be mitigated in order to achieve a balanced and rigorous analysis?

Online materials • Screenplay • Scriptwriting diagram

References Atkinson, S. (2007) ‘The versatility of visualization: delivering interactive feature film content on DVD’, Nebula, 4(2): 21–39. Online. www.nobleworld.biz/images/Atkinson.pdf Atkinson, S. (2009) ‘Telling interactive stories’, PhD thesis, Brunel University. http://bura.brunel. ac.uk/bitstream/2438/3294/1/Telling+interactive+stor ies+A+practice-based+investigation+ into+new+media+intrtactive+storytelling.pdf Atkinson, S. (2017) ‘“You sure that’s a film, man?” Audience anticipation, expectation and engagement in Lost in London LIVE’, Participations: Journal of Audience and Reception Studies, 14(2).

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270 Research Practices in Focus Costello, J. (2004) Writing a Screenplay, Harpenden: Pocket Essentials. Dixon, S. (2011) ‘Researching digital performance: virtual practices’, in B. Kershaw and H. Nicholson (eds) Research Methods in Theatre and Performance, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 41–62. Ellis, J. (1982) Visible Fictions: Cinema,Television,Video, London: Routledge. Fordyce, R. and Apperley, T.H. (2021) ‘Exhausting choices’, in German A. Duarte and Justin Michael Battin (eds) Reading ‘Black Mirror’: Insights into Technology and the Post-Media Condition, Columbia University Press, pp. 87–102. Friedman, A. (2006) Writing for Visual Media, Oxford: Focal Press. Garrand,T. (1997) ‘Scripting narrative for interactive multimedia’, Journal of Film and Video, 49(1–2). Handler Miller, C. (2004. Digital storytelling:A creator’s guide to interactive entertainment. Oxford: Elsevier, First Edition. Himmelsbach, S. (2003) ‘Toni Dove’, in J. Shaw and P. Weibel (eds) Future Cinema: The Cinematic Imaginary after Film, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Joyce, M. and Bolter, J.D. (1987) quoted in M. Joyce (2002) ‘Interactive planes: towards posthypertextual new media’, in B. Bushoff (ed.) Developing Interactive Content, Munich: High Text Verlag. Kennedy, H.W. and Atkinson, S. (2018) ‘Virtual Humanity: empathy, embodiment and disorientation in humanitarian VR experience design’, Refractory Journal, 30. Koenitz, Hartmut, et al. (eds) (2015) Interactive Digital Narrative: History, Theory and Practice, London: Routledge. Manovich, L. (2001) The Language of New Media, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. McKee, R. (1998) Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting, London: Methuen. McKie, Stewart (2014) ‘“Screenwriting 2.0.” What are the possibilities of screenplay datafication?’, PhD thesis, Royal Holloway College, London. McLuhan, M. (1997) Understanding Media, London: Routledge. Morris, D., Rodriguez-Echavarria, K. and Arnold, D. (2008, July) ‘An open-source head-eye tracking suite for immersive environments: Point of Regard’, IADIS International Conference on Computer Graphics and Visualization 2008. Stam, R. (2000) Film Theory: An Introduction, Oxford: Blackwell. Talen, J. (2002) ‘24: Split screen’s big comeback’. Online. www.salon.com/2002/05/14/24_split/ (accessed 7 January 2022).

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Photography as Process, Documentary Photographing as Discourse Roger Brown

This essay focuses on the activity of photographing, philosophical hermeneutics and ethnographic narrative; the hermeneutic activity and process of making documentary photographs of sociological value. On what Maynard refers to as the process of thinking and visualising through the medium of photography, Rorty as a hermeneutic of edification  and Ricoeur as a hermeneutic of dialectical discourse, tacit knowledge, meaningful action and indirect description, comprehended in a move from explaining to understanding social worlds of inherent complexity. A redescribing of reality that is descriptive, sensory, affective and aesthetic and one not accessible to direct description alone. A visual equivalent to fixing an inscription by writing (Maynard 2000; Morin 2007; Ricoeur 1991/2007; Rorty 1979/2009). While this essay is not in any sense an instruction manual for a meta-narrative of documentary photography practice, I shall refer to the philosophical hermeneutics of Paul Ricoeur, the five-fold aesthetic of photography devised by the art historian John Szarkowski, and to published observations from documentary photographers David Hurn and Henri Bresson on how they think through their practices, which are offered here as thoughtful and pragmatic guides to broadening our understanding. The essay is illustrated with examples of my past work and two case studies from current work (Appendix) as examples of a continuum of documentary practice running from an ethnography of identity to a visualisation of archaeology where empirical observation and aesthetics are indivisible to the interpretation.

Introduction: Photographing The art–science genre of documentary photography continues to offer a powerful visual means of combining phenomenological description with hermeneutic understanding of visual social science methodology. As single images but most especially when sequenced into an extended narrative, the visualisations made can act as a complement to and mediation of written, spoken or performed ethnographies; or they can stand alone as visualised ethnographic essays. By drawing attention to the process of making photographs, photographing, I am drawing attention to the subtle interplay of observation, tacit knowledge, new knowledge and aesthetics in their making.To not only what is being described visually but to the manner of their visualisation. As Ruskin put it many years ago and Dening more recently, that in their manner of making of observations, their rhetorical poetics and historicised performance, documentary narratives are a mutual dependency of ‘Form and Mental Expression’ for capturing the rhythms of daily life of a greater value than mere recording and illustration (Dening 1995; Ruskin 1853). Still photographs as DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-12

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272 Research Practices in Focus documentary visualisations are an empirical asset and contribution to theoretical and methodological clarification in the social sciences (Hogel 1998). The question is how to maintain a sense of action, the activity of making, as meaningful in the process of photographing in the formation of ethnographic narratives while being able to grasp the practice critically. Ulin points to a tension between a human agency and the structural constraints imposed by the circumstances in which it is operating that connects the formal properties of a text, or visual narrative in my case, to the conditions of its generation (Ulin 1992). The question in turn connects to mid-twentieth-century philosophical hermeneutics and a shift from the epistemological question ‘How to read?’ to the ontological question of ‘How do we communicate at all?’ It is a discussion that Ricoeur develops as a conflict of interpretations through a move away from a semiotic concern with structures of saying to a hermeneutic understanding of the manner of what is being said and their discourse (Ricoeur 1974, 1991). I discuss this further. The genre of documentary photography is alive and well. An art–science, creative process and a powerful visual means of interacting with people, the rhythms and complexities of their lives, that is capable of embedding ‘numerous social meanings, contexts and institutions’, to borrow from Baetens’s excellent appraisal (Baetens 2009: 93–6). Surprising, perhaps, that this should be so, despite the fierce criticisms of documentary photography by the proponents of critical theory in the 1970s and 1980s who, in deconstructing the practice, argued that humanist documentary photography such as that to be seen in Steichen’s (1955) Family of Man exhibition was essentially an example of false consciousness, imperialistic and self-serving (Solomon-Godeau and Nochlin 1991); despite its more recent elevation to a supposedly higher status as an art form of subjective self-expression albeit constrained to a post-modern, post-structuralist art-historical discourse (Dexter and Weski 2003); and despite the predicted epistemological end-game to the debates about reality, truth and falsehood of the photographic image in a digital technological environment (Ritchin 2009). Arguably these are all closed theoretical models that ‘have omitted significant aspects of our humanness … that fail to address the complexity of why people photograph’ (Noble 2010: 3). Langford has commented that the predicted closure has not occurred. Rejecting the cynical, she writes that, ‘Instead … we see signs of persistent faith in photographic evidence, however fragmented, pixelated or otherwise mediated’. Faith in an appeal to the authority of the documentary photograph as an authentic inscription of a reality and response to the brute facticity of life (Langford 2009: 165; Savedoff 2008). The enduring strength of documentary photography lies in its being a genre rather than a set of prescriptive doctrines. It is a mutable and pluralist mode of discourse within which to work that links together tacit knowledge, observational and empirical content to the sensory aesthetic poetics of their performance in ways that can create levels of expectation, meaning, interpretation and understanding beyond that of mere description (Bate 2009). As Ruskin found to his pleasure when discussing the Nature of the Gothic, there is plenty of room for innovation and creative thinking in documentary practice.Yet the results are recognisably of the genre and a Kantian idea of reason expressed in ethnographic narratives of complex thought, depth and subtlety whose articulation can achieve a horizon of insightful understanding approaching that which Ricoeur, for example, sought to achieve in his studies of the hermeneutics of language and discourses of text, time and narrative (Ricoeur 1984–88). A mode of thought and practice about the photographing, prosody and sequencing of images to which Morin’s useful metaphor of inscribing complex social meanings and behaviour can apply. Morin writes of the complexities of human life, describing them as being a construction in movement, and one that transforms in its

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Photography as Process 273 very movement the constitutive elements that form it (Morin 2007). To continue with Morin’s musical metaphor for a moment, I often think of narrative documentary as being similar to the fugue, a marriage of precision and passion and a technique rather than a fixed form where the sequence of images can state a theme, a response, a theme, another response and so on, with photographs working together as variation succeeds variation in a sequence of relational progression, to build an increasingly complex tapestry of the subject elements and an expression of reason (see e.g. Smith 1975; Ravilious 2007). As Gombrich has written: concentration on the physiognomic properties of sights and sounds [i.e. Signs – my insertion] will never yield a theory of artistic expression unless it is coupled with a clear awareness of the structural conditions of communication … the artist … will select from his palette … from among those available that to his mind is most like the emotion he wishes to represent.The more we know of his palette, the more likely we are to appreciate his choice. (Gombrich 1963: 62–3) Thus, we can conceive the written, the spoken and the visual modes of representation as a complementary triad that enables us to gather empirical data, organise, structure, interpret and analyse it; that in certain areas overlap, such as combining text with images, images with sound and haptic1 performances, but in others remain discrete and separate in their individual modes of discourse and inscription (see, for example, Coover (2004) and the use of hypertext). Howard Becker in an Afterword to Knowles and Sweetman’s thoughtful collection of essays, Picturing the Social Landscape, writes of ‘the need to find ways of using visual imagery that will be as natural and acceptable … as other forms of data’ and continues that: many people who work with visual materials have not realised that there are real skills involved and that you have to learn them, practise them and keep them in mind as you do your research and prepare it for public presentation … many people have failed to master the mechanics of writing clearly … and, similarly, most people do not know how to make a visual image that communicates clearly what’s to be said … and certainly do not know how to deliberately control the many aspects of such images. (Becker 2004: 195) Strong words – and he concludes on this theme that while there are good examples within visual social science, he nonetheless contends that ‘we’d do well to look also at the work of photographers who never pretended to be social scientists but who we would do well to claim as our own’, citing Robert Frank and Walker Evans, ‘with a lot of work yet to do’ (Becker 2004: 196–7). Hogel has commented that until very recently, anthropological understanding and use of documentary photography remained to a large extent dominated by nineteenth-century ideas of realism with film or digital technologies that are ‘revered’ as clear, precise and undistorted methods of gathering data for subsequent reading and analysis. Simple mirrors to the world without an analytical potential or aesthetic dimension of meaning (Hogel 1998). This is a conception in which interpretation and aesthetics often seem to be treated as synonyms for something artificial and added. An addition that corrupts the integrity of their descriptive and information value rather than being qualities that are implicit in experience and indissolubly integrated

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274 Research Practices in Focus in the authoring and receiving of photographic images. The descriptive and aesthetic dimensions together form an equal music of rationality and emotion in their making, understanding and appreciation rooted in our pragmatic experience of everyday life and humanity (see Dewey 1934). Progress has been made in the years since Becker and Hogel published their articles. Baetens remarks that photography research has become interdisciplinary and hybrid, incorporating and then breaking the constraints of an art-historical perspective, but ineluctably drawn towards issues of rhetoric, aesthetics and ‘questions of the pragmatic influence exerted on a non-passive audience by considerations … which some may call beauty’. A move that crucially sees a shift in concern from photography as an object of picture taking to the appreciation of photography as a socially constructed practice of picture making and points to a useful distinction to be made between media theory and medium theory in understanding this (Baetens 2009: 94–5). Pink and Edwards have, in the interim, pointed towards concerns with photography in an anthropological context: to questions of intersubjectivity, the alleged fragmenting nature of photographs, the similarity of this with fieldwork practice, and to the materiality of the medium. All of which are process-related observations suggesting possible lines of development to be further worked on. Developments that allow for the recognition of affective, sensory and aesthetic subjectivities to understanding that are rooted in the experience of the aesthetic in everyday life and a category reconfiguration that makes the photographic discourse more truthful to the complex dimensions of the ethnographic object, enriching our understanding of it in meaningful ways (Dewey 1934; Edwards 1997; Pink 2006; Pink et al. 2004; Saito 2007).Yet for all this, in talking about the business of making photographs in the field, Banks comments that while there are useful guides such as Wright’s The Photography Handbook (Wright 2007) there is nothing published ‘quite equivalent for still photography’ to Barbash and Taylor’s Cross-Cultural Filmmaking (Banks 2007: 124; Barbash and Taylor 1997).

Photography or Photographing? To talk in terms of photography is too abstract a category for so hybrid a medium, and conceptually not helpful to us. The category is too broad to be meaningful and passive in its spectator orientation, as Elkins et al. have recently discussed (Elkins 2007). I am talking in terms of photographing and the specific and limited photographic genre of documentary photography. This may be characterised as a social activity and a reflexive process of making, interpretation and discourse of thinking about effective visualisations of social life, and also as their reception by varieties of other people and circumstances; a means and not an end whose instrumentality expands the domain of our understanding. This is an intentional sociological action that I understand as an ethical Aristotelian praxis and phronesis directed towards interpreting cultural circumstances in ways that are meaningful and inscribing human beings actively living their lives in relation to each other and their cultural worlds, natural environments and their history in webs of semantic understandings. In speaking of photographing, I am also drawing attention to the distinction between merely seeing and incisive looking; and to the nature, the prosody of the visual frameworks of understanding being used in their inscription. Frameworks that mediate, shape and constrain our capacity to experience, interpret, understand and communicate intelligibly to others and that reciprocally mediate their reception. We tend to think of seeing and looking as synonymous, but they are not. Seeing is to be aware in a disinterested way.

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Photography as Process 275 Looking is to scrutinise, to be fully engaged with the detail and minutiae of the object. A distinction akin perhaps to Barthes’ studium and punctum dichotomy. Both seeing and looking are not immediately obvious and both are about perception and questioning the nature of our perceptions (Elkins 1997). Documentary photographing is very much about looking. Scrutinising the object of the enquiry with all senses alert to its visual possibilities, moods and qualities. In this it has a great deal in common with anthropological fieldwork and participating observation. Both have the quality of immediacy and presence yet both can only come to full realisation over an extended period of time and deepening understandings of the object of enquiry.

Photographing as a Hermeneutic Discourse Gombrich writes: ‘No artist is worth his salt who cannot keep the various dimensions of his language apart and use them for different articulations’ (Gombrich 1963: 65). The significant question to be answered in documentary photographing is ‘How?’ It is not only the choice of subject matter but how am I going to make photographs of it? Music is so much more than merely playing the notes, so photographing is more than pointing the camera with all the settings on automatic. Hermeneutic philosophy has been largely overlooked as an idea of reason that adds unity and coherence to our experience and as a guide to our thinking in discussions of photography. Ricoeur in his analysis of the text makes a crucial distinction between the speech act of saying, which is a dialogue, and what is said, which is the enunciation of the speaking transposed to writing. What we write, he says, is the noema of speaking, the meaning of the speech event, not the event as event (Ricoeur 1991: 146–7). Writing captures the fleeting event that appears and disappears in speech. In a similar way, photographing seeks to fix visually the fleeting and transient in the swirl of events. But it also seeks to capture and describe the event as event, exhibiting connections and distinctions which have hitherto lain hidden or cannot be as well expressed in writing. The answers to the question ‘How’ to make the photographs that fulfil their intention is by no means obvious, although we have the habit of thinking photography is so easy as to be self-evident. Simply put the camera on automatic and take a picture. What could be easier? Ulin and Gombrich each in their distinctive ways point to a tension between human agency and the contingency of the circumstances under which work is necessarily performed. In using hermeneutic thinking to help conceptualise and evaluate this I am drawing most particularly on the work in hermeneutics of Paul Ricoeur who writes on the task of hermeneutics as being to resolve an aporia and perceived opposition between explanation and understanding, that is, between an epistemological mode of knowing and an ontological understanding as a way of being and meaningful social behaviour (Ricoeur 1991: 53–74). Hermeneutics in relation to documentary photographing should be viewed as a regulative idea, rather than constitutive, adding meaning, unity and coherence to our experience. A help and guide to our thinking and understanding, I argue. Ricoeur defines hermeneutics as being the rules required for the interpretation of written documents. In his development of hermeneutics to the humanities and social sciences he distinguishes between a Weberian verstehen as a generalised comprehension and understanding, and the concept of auslegang as stated by Dilthey. Auslegang being an interpretation and exegesis that implies something more specific, a limited category of signs fixed by writing in documents and in monuments that entail a fixation ‘similar to writing’. Ricoeur’s stated hypothesis is that the human sciences (in which are included

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276 Research Practices in Focus anthropology and sociology) may also be said to be hermeneutical, because they raise similar problems in their interpretation as are raised in the interpretation of written and spoken texts. He argues that the object of the human sciences displays some of the features of a text as a text, and the methodology of their interpretation develops similar procedures to those of auslegang or text interpretation (Ricoeur 1991: 144–5). I am suggesting that documentary photography, when used as a medium of inscription and method of analysis (i.e. photographing) in the social sciences, displays features that are similar to those in writing – especially so in the construction of linked sequences of photographs. Further that photographing as the action of inscription is a visualising discourse of a regulative equivalence, enabling us the adoption of Ricoeur’s assertion that it is in discourse that language is either written or spoken. Ricoeur tells us that discourse, as he defines the category, is ‘language-event or linguistic usage’ and the counterpart of what linguists call language systems or linguistic codes (ibid.: 145). Because language is capable of multiple semiosis that the word alone cannot encompass, he shifts the unit of analysis from the semiotic word (sign) to the sentence as the base unit of discourse because it is better able to capture a plurality of multiple meanings. Therefore, he says, ‘it is the linguistics of the sentence which supports the theory of speech as an event’ (ibid.). Without getting ahead of myself, I shall say here that for my purposes of analysis I regard the single photograph as the visual equivalent to the sentence in language. Ricoeur proposes that discourse has four distinctive traits. First, discourse is always realised temporally and in the present (language is a-temporal and virtual). Second, discourse refers back to a speaker. It has a complex set of indicators that amount to an instance of discourse (unlike language which lacks a subject in the sense of ‘who is speaking?’). Third, discourse is always about something, it refers to a world that it claims to describe, to express or to represent (language signs refer only to other signs within the same system). Only in discourse is the symbolic function of language actualised. Fourth, in discourse, all messages are exchanged. Discourse alone has a world that includes another, an interlocutor that is being addressed (language is only the condition for communication, for which it provides codes); thus, we arrive at the category of speech as an event (ibid.: 145–6). Ricoeur continues with a problem, the distinction between spoken and written language. Examining how these four traits are present in spoken and written language, he realises there is a fundamental difference between the two modes of language. Speech is a transient fleeting event, which is why there is a problem in fixing it, of inscribing it. What we want to fix, he says, is what disappears. Referring to Plato’s Phraedrus, it is writing, the grammata of external marks, that solves the problem. Writing ‘is discourse’s destination’, Ricoeur says.Writing fixes the fleeting event of speech that would otherwise disappear. That same fleeting reality when all the faculties converge into ‘that moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy’ for Cartier-Bresson in photography (Cartier-Bresson 1999: 16). Ricoeur continues by asking, ‘what in effect does writing fix?’ In answer he proposes that writing does not inscribe the event of speaking but the ‘said’ of speaking. Here is our bridge between a hermeneutics of writing and a hermeneutics of photographing and visualisation in documentary photography. The ‘said’ of speaking is, Ricoeur contends, the intentional exteriorisation of discourse thanks to which the saying, sage, wants to become the enunciation, aus-sage. For writing this means the written text. For documentary photographing this means the visualised narrative. In short, he says, what we write is the meaning of the speech event. Speech itself insofar as it is said (Ricoeur 1991: 146).

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Photography as Process 277 Drawing on the theories of the speech act to be found in the work of Austin and Searle, Ricoeur deepens his analysis. A speech act, or the act of speaking, has, according to Austin and Searle, three levels: 1 2 3

The propositional or locutionary: the act of saying (Inscription). The illocutionary act: that which we do in saying (Inspiration). The perlocutionary act: what we do by saying (Aspiration).

Unwrapping these categories, Ricoeur reveals their implications, which are that: (a) The locutionary act is fixed in the sentence. The sentence thus becomes a propositional utterance with descriptive content that because of its sign structure can be identified and re-identified. (b) The illocutionary is less completely inscribed in grammar, it dwells on the expressive aspects of the speech act that calls on prosody to articulate and inspire what could not otherwise be known. (c) The perlocutionary is the least inscribable aspect. The perlocutionary is the level of discourse as stimulus and aspiration; it acts upon the emotions, imagination and affective dispositions of people, typically through metaphor. Thus, to fully understand the meaning of a speech act it is necessary to understand all three rational and aesthetic aspects of language where they are codified and gathered into paradigms that can be identified and re-identified as having the same meaning. When transposed to writing, the sentence is a diverse indicator of subjective factors such as the personality of the speaker, Ricoeur states. This too is an assertion also frequently made about photography. But there is a further problem because the subjective author and the written text are dissociated. The author’s intention and the meaning of the text no longer necessarily coincide. Thus, ‘the dissociation of verbal meaning of the text and the mental intention is what is really at stake in the inscription of discourse’, says Ricoeur, and interpretation is the only recourse we have to recover the meaning (ibid.: 147–8). Finally, discourse is what refers to a world, it cannot fail to be about something. ‘Only man has world’, he says, a text has only a situation. The text has an ostensive reference but people have an ensemble of references, tacit knowledge, that are opened up by the text. People encountering a text are an audience that constitutes itself and one that utilises their prior knowledge. Thus, he concludes, to understand a written text is at the same time to understand something of ourselves and a new dimension to Self being-inthe-world. A Heideggerian project of discourse as projecting-a-world which is, he argues, its justification as a social action: to establish the relation of man to the world. Discourse is addressed to someone. This is the foundation of communication, Ricoeur writes, universal in its address as meaningfully-oriented behaviour (ibid.: 148–50). I am suggesting that documentary photographing in a social science context can be found to share significant similarities and characteristics in its discourse with Ricoeur’s threefold delineation of the written text. The photographs have locutionary description, illocutionary affects and perlocutionary aesthetics that arouse and fire the imagination. Both are evidence of a somebody saying something about something to a somebody. Ricoeur’s analysis of the hermeneutics of discourse gives us a fresh understanding of the way in which documentary photographing can be critically understood to operate and how it does so. The reflexive participation of the observer is recognisable in the

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278 Research Practices in Focus locutionary manner by which the observation is described and visualised in photographs; what Wright has called the primary message (Wright 2007). Ricoeur calls this the reference, a literal description and in his nomenclature, mimesis. The illocutionary he calls the intentional sense of the inscription. A message and discourse that reveal aspects, qualities and values of a reality that he categorises as mimesis. The perlocutionary he calls the indirect reference, redescribing a reality inaccessible to direct description, and categorises as mimesis. These different aspects become apparent through the skill (phronesis) with which we photograph and the manner in which the primary and lateral messages that are descriptive, explanatory, affective, sensory, revealing values that stimulate the imagination, are communicated that in their total, ‘make the world one that can be inhabited’ (Ricoeur 1991). Documentary photographing is a skill and no less a skill to be learned than the skill of writing. It is a practical way of thinking about the complexity of life that refuses the photography to be reduced and polarised as either science or art, but as a form of mental expression is dependent on both (Morin 2007; Ruskin 1853).

Photographing as Practice [I]f I make a judgement it can only be on a psychological or sociological level … in order to give meaning to the world one has to feel oneself involved in what one frames through the viewfinder. This attitude requires concentration, a discipline of mind, sensitivity, and a sense of geometry … by an economy of means … one arrives at simplicity of expression. One must always take photographs with the greatest respect for the subject and for oneself. (Cartier-Bresson 1999) Photographing is about looking and imaginatively evoking worlds visually. For myself, I reject the collapsing of documentary photography into Art and a mere art form as the only worthwhile form. It is entirely capable of standing on its own feet in a sociological context as method and analysis and to categorise it wholesale as Art and therefore ‘worthy’ is singularly unhelpful. As Paul Newman did not quite say, why eat hamburger when you are already eating fillet steak? As with the written word, we can do it well or we can do it half-heartedly or even misleadingly. This places considerable responsibility on the photographer and demands from them other skills in terms of prior knowledge and understanding; perception and sensitivity to current and unfolding events; an ability to build rapport and good working relations with other people; integrity and humility in recognition of the ethical responsibilities to the people, their lives and circumstances that they are allowing to be photographed, often intimately. To this we can then add the skills needed in a confident marshalling and selection of the visualising technologies and picture-making techniques available; sensitivity to the structural and rhetorical tropes possible in the making of the photographs and integrity in the building of the sequence of images into a satisfactory and authentic narrative. None of this is specific to photography alone but would apply to a greater or lesser degree to film and video makers, as it would to fieldworkers more concerned with writing their fieldwork and data than rendering it visually. As Becker has pointed out, writing doesn’t come easily! There are some additional factors peculiar to both photography and film/video visualisation to be aware of, as Flusser reminds us. Flusser suggests there is a potential conflict

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Photography as Process 279 of intentions between the users of camera-based technologies and the intentions of the manufacturer of the equipment such that the camera may dictate to an uncomfortable extent what is possible and what is not possible to record on the film or sensor (Flusser 2000/2007). To my mind it simply means recognising the limitations of the medium and working within them. In 1964 The Museum of Modern Art, New York, staged an exhibition of photographs called The Photographer’s Eye. The exhibition was curated by the then Director of Photography, John Szarkowski, against a background that sought to establish photography as a sovereign fine art medium. Szarkowski published a book of the same name in 1966 based on the exhibition.The thesis of the book is to investigate why photographs look the way they do, to move our appreciation of them from a picture-making process of synthesis to one of selection. Szarkowski argued that a study of the photographic form ‘must consider the medium’s “fine art” tradition and its “functional” tradition as intimately interdependent aspects of a single history’ (Szarkowski 1966/2007). Szarkowski proposed five key considerations a photographer must decide upon in the ‘How to’ process of making photographs. In summary these are: 1 2 3

4 5

The Thing itself, the subject of the photograph. The Detail, the small but significant and meaningful elements of the picture. The Frame, the boundaries of the picture that determine what is included, what is excluded and what is hinted at lying on the edges and beyond the frame. It also is a significant element of the internal geometry of the picture and creating the illusion of space, of a foreground and background gestalt. Time, when to press the shutter and what shutter speed to select for the inscription of movement or freezing motion. Vantage, where to stand in relation to the subject, how close, how far, how low and how high, to one side or another.

By such means, suggested Szarkowski, pictures made with a mindless mechanical process could ‘be made to produce pictures meaningful in human terms’ (ibid.). Szarkowski is writing as a museum curator and photographic art historian. In seeking to identify what made photography distinctive as a collectable art form he devised what amounts to an aesthetics of the medium that remains a thought-provoking and influential text today. David Hurn, the long-time member of the Magnum photo agency and former head of documentary photography at Newport, Gwent, and Bill Jay, the writer and critic of photography, have written an excellent book together that attempts to unravel the processes of ‘how to think and act like a photographer’ (Jay and Hurn 2007). It is a distillation of common denominators and basic principles they have found in a lifetime of their own and many other photographers’ experience. Among the hundreds of books available that give advice on how to make better pictures, Jay and Hurn’s is unique. The book is arranged as a Socratic dialogue of questions and answers, so, for example, when Jay asks what is it that transforms a simple record photograph of the appearance of something into something of lasting merit, Hurn replies that it comes down to the choice of subject.The photographer must have an intense curiosity and not just a passing visual interest in the subject, he says. A curiosity that leads to intense examination, reading, talking, researching, and not least to many failed attempts at finding a satisfactory visualisation over a long period of time (ibid.: 48).

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280 Research Practices in Focus This sits well with fieldwork of course. It may sound trite to say it but photographing has to be worked at and a common mistake is to treat it as an add-on, an afterthought. So put time aside to concentrate on making photographs, immerse yourself in photographing. It takes time, persistence and patience. Unlike working with formal or informal interview techniques, with listening and participating in conversations and the ebb and flow of the dialogue, or with observations and research that are going to be transcribed into spoken, and above all written language in monographs and journal articles, photographing means looking for the visual.You are using a different part of the brain and a quite different mindset. You are making yourself alive to line, shape, form, colour, texture, patterning and configurations of elements, and above all light and the tone or mood of the photographs. James Ravilious frequently chose to shoot into the light, for example. The subject matter becomes backlit, shadows are cast forward towards the viewer and the overall tone of the photographs of rural Devon farming communities is lyrical (Ravilious 2007). When photographing, you are in control, deciding where to stand and when to press the shutter release; how to draw the image on the film or sensor according to the ways in which different lens focal lengths render light at the camera focal plane – so long focal length telephotos compress perspective, limit depth of field and allow differential focus to be used to isolate a subject from its surroundings, whereas short focal length/wide-angle lenses expand and even distort perspective, and increase depth of field, rendering foreground and background distinct. Different shutter speeds will impact on how movement is made apparent in the image (slow speed) or stopped in its tracks (fast speed). What ISO rating of film or sensor will be used? In making the crucial decisions about how to photograph something, a person or an event, the photographer can choose which technology, which lens, the level of exposure, the shutter speed, the handling of contrast ratios and qualities of light, mood and atmosphere, the lens aperture, the depth of field and point of focus, whether to work in colour or black and white, the extent of post-production enhancement and manipulation of the image, all grounded in a web of empirical references and significations. Not for nothing did Edward Steichen say that ‘Photography is a medium of formidable contradictions. It is both ridiculously easy and almost impossibly difficult.’ So, it comes as a relief that he also felt able to say with great conviction that photography, ‘I believe … is potentially the best medium for explaining man to himself and his fellow man’. All that is required is, as Hogel says, ‘that we work seriously with the media’ (Hogel 1998: 33).

Some Examples Oil rigs are noisy, fascinating, and at times tedious places. In the early 1980s I was on the North Sea oil rig Piper Alpha. Soon after dawn I wandered the rig looking for interesting subject matter when I noticed a roustabout standing by the nozzle of the gas flare. When they burn, the gas flare booms with noise. That morning it was quiet and there were no flames because he had been cleaning the burner of carbon deposits.The rig, however, was noisy and flexing with vibrations from the well-drilling deck. I watched in amazement as he reached into his pocket, and taking out an ordinary cigarette lighter, stretched an arm to the nozzle and lit the gas jet. It ignited and billowed and roared into flame. My camera was loaded with colour film, the lens focal length, settings and exposure already chosen because I had beforehand measured and evaluated the light and picture-making

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Figure 8.1 Igniting the flare stack, Piper Alpha, North Sea (Occidental Petroleum)

possibilities of the early morning activities. But not this, I had no idea this is what happened. I managed to frame and shoot one exposure (Figure 8.1). Serendipity. When not on the rigs I was undertaking research and fieldwork for an ethnography of the North East of Scotland inshore fisheries for a postgraduate degree. Then, as now, my ethics were humanist. I was steeped in the realist tradition, discourse and expectations of documentary photography being 35mm, available light, black and white, shot on Kodak Tri-X at 400 ISO or more. The rhetoric of this photograph (Figure 8.2) was formed by these expectations and by the light of a single fluorescent strip light in the ceiling of the railway arch housing a small family business. It was very cold and steam drifted from the buckets of hot water that the working women and one man used to warm their hands frozen from filleting the cold, wet fish. I tried hard to catch that sense of a Dickensian atmosphere and relentless hard work processing the morning catch and sending it to market as fresh as possible. The aesthetic of grainy black and white photographs fitted that. Colour would not. The photographs were always intended to be sequenced into a photo-essay and visual narrative with text, and resulted from many months of work building personal relationships, gaining acceptance and developing an understanding of the complex social structure through which the fisheries were organised and operated. I had seen the same events in this and other similar fish houses for a number of weeks before photographing them, during which time I worked out my storyline and my visual rhetorics through which to make the photographs. In 2004 to 2005 I spent six months photographing the workforce, plant and manufacturing processes of the Royal Doulton ceramics company in their last British factory at Nile Street, Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent. After years of decline and loss making, the factory was to close, production was to be shipped overseas and the brand name sold to the Wedgwood Group. I chose to work on 6cm x 7cm medium format cameras with colour negative film. I was intending as complete a record as possible for exhibition, publication

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Figure 8.2 Fish filleting and processing shed, Aberdeen

and as a doctoral research case study, with high-quality negatives and archival durability. I was very conscious that I was photographing history. For this reason, I wanted great detail and clarity in the photographs. Lighting governed the aesthetics and mood of the photographs with a complex mixture of ambient daylight and fluorescent strip lighting which I controlled and softened by using on camera fill-in flash. My current work is with documentary visualisations of archaeological skeleton remains for an HEA/JISC-funded research project producing photographs for a Forensic Archaeology and Forensic Science teaching and learning DVD (Cassella et al. 2008). The skeletons have been excavated from Hulton Abbey, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire over a period of time (Klemperer and Boothroyd 2004). One unique skeleton has recently been identified as probably that of Hugh le Despenser the Younger, favourite of Edward II, executed for high treason by being hanged, drawn and quartered in November 1326 at Hereford. The bones of the skeleton are scarred with axe and sword cuts and chopping marks where the body was butchered into pieces and the head struck off. The intention was to produce clear and detailed images that can be used for teaching diagnostics of the pathology of peri-mortem trauma without the need to handle the fragile bones. Lighting and the aesthetic quality of the light is the key to this. Here I have used contrejour lighting that produces glowing highlights, clearly defined shadow regions and threedimensional drawing of the bone surfaces and butchering cuts and fractures. So successful has this been that the research project is continuing with further photography of these and other archaeological specimens. Documentary photography can readily span a range of intended methodologies in the social sciences as I have sought to show in these few examples. Common to all the different applications is an appreciation of the aesthetic qualities of the photographing that far from corrupting the empirical content, add immeasurably to our appreciation, understanding and interpretation of it.

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Figure 8.3 Royal Doulton Plc: Anne, aerobrush figurine decorator

Figure 8.4 Hugh le Despenser the Younger, 1326, executed for high treason. Cervical vertebra C3 showing the inter-vertebral surface of the living bone where it has been sliced through by beheading.

Appendix: Case Studies HASDiP:The Hulton Abbey Skeleton Digitisation Project HASDiP is an HEA/JISC-funded research project to digitally photograph skeleton remains excavated from Hulton Abbey, Stoke-on-Trent, in the recent past (Klemperer and Boothroyd 2004). The purpose was to document the remains with as much aesthetic

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284 Research Practices in Focus clarity and detail as possible to show their pathology. The photographs are to be used as a diagnostic teaching and learning aid in forensic science, forensic archaeology, forensic anthropology and other related fields. The final outcome has been published as a DVD for in-class use, the intention being to remove the need to handle the very fragile remains (Cassella et al. 2008). Hulton Abbey is a minor medieval Cistercian monastery (AD1219–1538). One skeleton stood out labelled as HA16. The decapitated remains are heavily scarred with what were, on initial diagnosis, suggested to be the cut marks of battle injuries. A recent reanalysis by Dr Mary Lewis suggests the skeleton is of a male and well-known political figure who had been executed by being hanged, drawn and quartered. Lewis contends the remains are those of Hugh le Despenser the Younger, executed for high treason in November 1326 at Hereford on the orders of Queen Isabella, wife of Edward II. Lewis’s analysis and the new photographs that I made are the first osteological description and visualisation of the lesions associated with this form of execution (Lewis 2008: 315). Hugh le Despenser was the chamberlain and favourite courtier of Edward II and widely hated by his queen, Isabella, the barons, bishops and population for exploiting his position of power and authority to enrich himself at their expense (Fryde 1979). When Queen Isabella and the Marcher baron Sir Roger Mortimer invaded England in September 1326 to depose Edward from the throne, Despenser was chased, captured and taken to Hereford for trial and execution for high treason. He was sentenced to death by being publicly drawn, hanged, emasculated, eviscerated and beheaded while still conscious

Figure 8.5 Froissart: ‘The execution of Hugh le Despenser’, Hereford, 1326

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Figure 8.6 HA16 (the surviving skeleton remains)

and his body then quartered. The manner of execution being reserved only for highstatus individuals, carbon-dating of the bones and the absence of several parts of the body including the head all point to Despenser, and if so then ‘this is the first time such an execution victim has been identified’, says Lewis (2008). The head was displayed on London Bridge and his quartered body parts sent to the four corners of the kingdom and displayed there to confirm his death. Significantly, the body was not only quartered but cut into smaller sections by being halved below the rib cage and the spine cut vertically. The chop marks on the bones show that the butchering was crudely done. Despenser’s widow, Eleanor, later petitioned Edward III for the return of his bones to be buried in his family mausoleum in Gloucester Cathedral, but only the head, a thigh bone and a few vertebrae were returned to her. These are the bones missing from the Hulton Abbey skeleton. Hulton Abbey formed part of the estate of Hugh Audley, Despenser’s brother-in-law and a knight in Edward II’s household. It is possible the family may have chosen to bury what remained of him there to save him from eternal purgatory. As well as producing photographs of record, the aesthetics of the lighting is crucial to the photographing. I used a lighting technique known as contre-jour and macro levels of magnification of each specimen. The lighting places the source high and behind the subject. The effect is to create glowing highlights as the light reflects from surfaces and builds shadows that create texture and three-dimensional form. Cuts, slices, chopping marks and stress fractures are all brought out in great detail and clarity, as can be seen on the right clavicle where the arm was cut away at the shoulder (Figure 8.10). Multiple cut marks are visible, suggesting that the butchering was crude, hasty and difficult.

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Figure 8.7 Cervical vertebra C3. This shows the moment of beheading. The spongy appearance of the inter-vertebral surface shows the living bone where the axe sliced through the flesh and fractured the neck vertebra.

Figure 8.8 Cervical vertebra C3. Another view of the same site of beheading.

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Figure 8.9 Lumbar vertebrae showing living bone surfaces. The body was quartered and cut vertically down the lower spine from below the rib cage to the pelvis.

Figure 8.10 The right clavicle where the right arm was cut away at the shoulder. The bone shows as many as twelve cut lines, evidence of repeated slashing and the difficulty of cutting through the flesh and sinews.

The photographic techniques used have been so successful that further evidence of the peri-mortem trauma has been revealed by the photography that visual examinations had missed. The research programme is continuing with quantitative laser 3-D scanning of the bones. Together the qualitative photography and the quantitative laser scans will establish new national visualisation protocols for this type of documentation, new knowledge to science and open new understandings of medieval life and the highly theatrical performance of public execution by drawing, quartering and beheading.

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Figure 8.11 The thoracic section of the spine was also cut through vertically as the body was butchered

Place, Space and Identity:Waterside South, Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent In 2007 I was awarded an Arts Council West Midlands/RENEW Regeneration North Staffordshire community arts commission to document an area of Stoke-on-Trent undergoing Pathfinder 1 regeneration. The area I chose is called Wellington traditionally, and Waterside South in the regeneration scheme. It is an area of nineteenth-century terraced housing, built for the people working in the paper mills and potbanks that lined the district to the south along the Caldon canal. Up to four generations of people living in the district give it a vivid sense of self and community identity, with many having lived there all their lives, marrying their neighbours, working in the same factories, sending their sons and daughters to war. Typical of these is Mrs Lottie Hughes who has lived all her life in the house she was born in, and her parents and grandparents before her. Mrs Hughes’s home was recently demolished and she has been rehoused in a small bungalow development for the elderly. I had three winter months in which to produce a series of documentary photographs and hold a public exhibition of them. The question was: how to photograph something so insubstantial and transient as ‘Identity’? It seemed to me only possible through a visual narrative of portraits, events and localities in the district and to combine the photographs with captions. The captions were extracted from interviews with the residents and professionals involved in the regeneration of the district. I worked through the Residents’ Association by giving a presentation of my past work and asking people to come forward and help me by giving their permission to photograph them and their homes.

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Figure 8.12 New housing along the Caldon canal where potbanks previously stood

Figure 8.13 Mrs Lottie Hughes, fourth-generation resident

Tensions were high because demolition was taking place, new housing being built, many older properties condemned, and a lot of uncertainty about what was going to happen and when. People living in the district did not like the changes being forced on them and the manner in which they were being carried out without, it was felt, sufficient and proper consultation. Many, like Mr and Mrs Jeffries, were happy to welcome me into their homes, others were not.The older community was fracturing and with it a sense of self and identity that nonetheless people worked hard to maintain through the church, school and community centre organising luncheons, social activities and events such as the traditional children’s Christmas lantern parade through the streets of the district (Figure 8.17).

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Figure 8.14 Residents’ Association meeting with the Regeneration Agency

Figure 8.15 Former paper mill and Victorian housing and new-build housing, Cresswell Street

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Figure 8.16 Mr and Mrs Jeffries

Figure 8.17 The Christmas children’s lantern parade through the district

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Figure 8.18 The Hole in the Wall oatcake shop

Figure 8.19 Glenn Fowler and the Oatcake Girls

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Figure 8.20 Exhibition at the community centre

North Staffordshire is famous for a local delicacy, the oatcake. This is a pancake of fermented wheat and oat flour. ‘The Hole in the Wall’ is the last traditional shop selling from what used to be the front room of the house. The shop was to be demolished, and it caused an outcry and became the focus for people’s frustrations (Figures 8.18 and 8.19). The photographs were exhibited in the district community centre and the church hall of the parish church, St Mary’s. My work continues with documenting the changes and regeneration of Wellington, old identities and loyalties broken up and new forms emerging, and a book was published in 2012 (Regeneration: Waterside South, rgbphotopu blishing).

Critical Questions 1. What lessons can you take from understanding documentary photography as both praxis and phronesis? 2. How can social sciences benefit from the insights of photographers outside of the academic field? Cite examples of two photographers whose work you know. 3. Why might hermeneutic discourse as set out by Ricoeur be valuable for reflecting on the process of photography? 4. How do the examples of Brown’s work demonstrate ‘an existential commitment of Care for the Subject; Care for the photography; Care for the truth of the subject. Care for themselves’ (Brown 2009, quoted on p. 000)?

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Note 1 See Glossary.

References Baetens, J. (2009) ‘Theorising photography as a social and artistic practice’, Visual Studies, 24(2): 93–96. Banks, M. (2007) Using Visual Data in Qualitative Research, London: Sage. Barbash, I. and Taylor, L. (1997) Cross-Cultural Filmmaking: A Handbook for Making Documentary and Ethnographic Films and Video, London: University of California Press. Bate, D. (2009) Photography:The Key Concepts, Oxford: Berg. Becker, H. (2004) ‘Afterword: Photography as evidence, photographs as exposition’, in C. Knowles and P. Sweetman (eds) Picturing the Social Landscape:Visual Methods and the Sociological Imagination, London: Routledge. Cartier-Bresson, H. (1999) The Mind’s Eye: Writings on Photography and Photographers, New York: Aperture/Magnum. Cassella, J., Brown, R., Lewis, M. and Lucking, P. (2008) HAS Dip, The Hulton Abbey Skeleton Digitisation Project. Online. www.heacademy.ac.uk/assets/documents/digitisation-project-rep ort-pdf Coover, R. (2004) ‘Working with images, images of work: using digital interface, photography and hypertext in ethnography’, in S. Pink (ed.) Working Images, Visual Research and Representation in Ethnography, London: Routledge. Coppock, C. and Seawright, P. (eds) (2009) So Now Then, with Essays by David Campany, Martha Langford and Jan-Erik Lundstrom, Cardiff: Ffotogallery, in association with the Hereford Photography Festival, 2006. Dening, G. (1995) The Death of William Gooch: A History’s Anthropology, Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. Dewey, J. (1934/2007) Art as Experience, New York: Perigee. Dexter, E. and Weski, T. (eds) (2003) Cruel and Tender: Photography and the Real, London: Tate Publishing. Edwards, E. (1997) ‘Beyond the boundary’, in M. Banks and H. Morphy (eds) Rethinking Visual Anthropology, New Haven, CT, and London:Yale University Press. Elkins, J. (1997) The Object Stares Back: On the Nature of Seeing, New York: Harvester Harcourt. Elkins, J. (2007) Photography Theory,The Art Seminar,Volume 2, London: Routledge. Flusser,V. (2000/2007) Towards a Philosophy of Photography, London: Reaktion Books. Fryde, N. (1979) The Tyranny and Fall of Edward II 1321–1326, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gombrich, E. (1963) Meditations on a Hobby Horse, London: Phaidon. Hogel, J. (1998) ‘In anthropology, the image can never have the last say’, Group for Debates in Anthropological Theory (GDAT) 1997: 9, P. Wade (ed.) University of Manchester: Department of Social Anthropology. Jay, B. and Hurn, D. (2007) On Being a Photographer: A Practical Guide, Anacortes, WA: LensWork Publishing. Klemperer, W. and Boothroyd, N. (2004) ‘Excavations at Hulton Abbey, Staffordshire 1987–1994’, Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph 21, London. Knowles, C. and Sweetman, P. (eds) (2004) Picturing the Social Landscape: Visual Methods and the Sociological Imagination, London: Routledge. Langford, M. (2009) ‘What use is photography?’, in C. Coppock and P. Seawright (eds) So Now Then, Cardiff: Ffotogallery. Lewis, M.E. (2008) ‘A traitor’s death? The identity of a drawn, hanged and quartered man from Hulton Abbey, Staffordshire’, Antiquity, 82(315): 113–24.

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Photography as Process 295 Maynard, P. (2000) The Engine of Visualisation: Thinking Through Photography, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Morin, E. (2007) On Complexity, Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. Noble, D. (2010) ‘The distance between theory and practice’, Staffordshire University Department of Photography/Stockholm 2010 conference paper: ‘Photography Next’. Pink, S. (2006) The Future of Visual Anthropology, Engaging the Senses, London: Routledge. Pink, S., Kurti, L. and Afonso, A.L. (eds) (2004) Working Images:Visual Research and Representation in Ethnography, London: Routledge. Ravilious, J. (1998/2007) in P. Hamilton (ed.) An English Eye, Oxford: The Bardwell Press. Ricoeur, P. (1974) The Conflict of Interpretations, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Ricoeur, P. (1984–88) Time and Narrative (3 vols), trans. Kathleen Blamey and David Pellauer, Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Ricoeur, P. (1991/2007) From Text to Action: Essays in Hermeneutics II, Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Ritchin, F. (2009) After Photography, New York: W.W. Norton. Rorty, R. (1979/2009) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (30th anniversary edition), Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rose, G. (2001/2006) Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to the Interpretation of Visual Methods, London: Sage. Ruskin, J. (1853) ‘The nature of the Gothic’. Essay first published in The Stones of Venice, vol. 2, 1853. Saito,Y. (2007) Everyday Aesthetics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Savedoff, B. (2008) ‘Documentary photography and the art of photography’, in S. Walden (ed.) Philosophy and Photography: Essays on the Pencil of Nature, Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, W.E. and Smith, A.M. (1975) Minamata, London: Chatto & Windus. Solomon-Godeau, A. and Nochlin, L. (1991) Photography at the Dock: Essays on Photographic History, Institutions and Practices, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Steichen, E. (ed.) (1955) The Family of Man, New York: The Museum of Modern Art. Szarkowski, J. (1966/2007) The Photographer’s Eye, New York: The Museum of Modern Art. Ulin, R.C. (1992) ‘Beyond explanation and understanding: anthropology and hermeneutics’, Dialectical Anthropology, 17(3): 253–69. Walden, S. (ed.) (2008) Philosophy and Photography: Essays on the Pencil of Nature, Oxford: Blackwell. Wright, T. (2007) The Photography Handbook, 2nd edn, London: Routledge.

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage Notes on a Visual Ethnography of the Cult of María Lionza (Venezuela, Barcelona, and the Internet) Roger Canals

In 2003, I began to study the myriad of images representing María Lionza, one of the most popular divinities in Venezuela.1 My main motivation for this investigation was twofold: on the one hand, I wished to shed some light on this as yet unexplored religious phenomenon, which has attracted little research attention to date, especially if compared with other ‘Afro-American religions’ such as Santería, Umbanda, or Candomblé. On the other hand, I hoped to experiment with the possibilities of image-based methods for ethnographic research and to explore new ways of representing and communicating knowledge based on visual language and devices. I have pursued this research in Venezuela, Catalonia, and on the internet for more than fifteen years, and it has yielded a plurality of outcomes.2 María Lionza represents a unique case in the Venezuelan religious universe: the main figure in an important cult of possession, she is described and depicted in many different and apparently contradictory ways (as Indian, white, mestiza, or black, good or evil, seductress or virgin).3 Moreover, the image of María Lionza is present in diverse contexts in contemporary Venezuelan society and beyond, where she takes on a variety of roles and meanings. She can be found, for example, on the altars of the cult of possession in her honour, in the artistic world and the world of handicrafts (galleries, museums, workshops), in publicity, in films, and on the internet. From the outset, I assumed that this research could only be undertaken by adopting an analytical and methodological approach which critically connected what I consider to be the four main domains of visual anthropology: the anthropological study of images (that is, the analysis of how people from different socio-cultural milieux conceptualise different types of image and relate to them); the use of image-based research methods (what is usually known as ‘visual ethnography’); the use of images as a mode of representation and communication (ethnographic cinema, photo-essays, exhibitions, visual interventions in the public space, and so on); and lastly, the anthropology of vision, defined as a field linked to the anthropology of the senses, which focuses on comparative analyses of the meaning invested in the acts of seeing and being seen in different cultural and historical contexts. Although often viewed as independent, I consider these four areas to be interwoven, to the extent that it becomes highly problematic, in theoretical and practical terms alike, to tackle one of them without referring to the others. Based on a long-term investigation of images of María Lionza, this article is intended to provide a concrete example of how we can creatively and experimentally inter-relate these four main areas of visual anthropology (which can be extended, with some reservations, to the broader field of ‘visual studies’). In the last part of this chapter, I shall underline the usefulness of generating a plurality of diverse yet complementary outcomes (books,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-13

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage 297 films, photographs, websites, and exhibitions) through research. In the vein of multimodal anthropology, I shall suggest defining this set of ‘results’ as an ‘eclectic assemblage’ which can be used as a means not only to disseminate research among a wider audience, but also to question it with a view to future investigations. However, before discussing the uses I have made of the image throughout my research, it is important to provide some basic information on the goddess María Lionza and the cult devoted to her.

María Lionza and Her Cult María Lionza is a widely known divinity in Venezuela. So much so, that she is often regarded by believers and non-believers alike as the nation’s autochthonous goddess and a symbol of Venezuelan history and identity (Barreto 2020). The versions of the myth of María Lionza – present both in the oral tradition and the written literature – are as innumerable as the images representing her (see Garmendia 1980; Antolínez 1995; Manara 1995; Barreto O. 2005). The most famous myth tells the story of a young Indian woman who fell into a lake and turned into an anaconda. The beast grew until it exploded, and then from the remains of its body emerged the Venezuelan territory. The term ‘cult of María Lionza’ designates a collection of healing, divination and initiation rituals performed in honour of María Lionza and her pantheon of divinities, where spirit possession rituals play a crucial role (see Clarac de Briceño 1970, 1983, 1996; PollackEltz 1972; Ferrándiz 2004; Fernández and Barreto 2001–02). These rituals are mainly performed in large Venezuelan cities (Caracas, Valencia or Maracaibo), but are also held on the Montaña de Sorte (Sorte Mountain), a centre of pilgrimage for believers. Despite its close association with Venezuela, the cult of María Lionza has spread in recent decades to other South American and Caribbean countries (Colombia, Dominican Republic, and Brazil, among others), as well as to the United States and Europe (Canals 2018a). This globalisation of the cult is mainly due to three factors: migration processes occurring as a consequence of the internal economic crisis that has gripped Venezuela since around 2010; internationalisation of the esoteric industry that provides the necessary materials for performing rituals (for instance, images of María Lionza and other spirits are crafted and exported to Europe, America, and Asia); and the increasing presence of the cult of María Lionza on the internet and social networks such as Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. In this regard, it is important to note that a new set of specific online ritual techniques have been devised, enabling believers to make contact with each other and with divinities. In terms of images, it is on the internet where we find the most transgressive, irreverent, and anti-canonical images of the goddess. From a historical perspective, the origin of the figure of María Lionza and her cult remains vague. Nonetheless, everything seems to indicate that this religious practice stems from ceremonies that the inhabitants of what is now Venezuela held in honour of female deities – deities related to water, animals, and the forces of nature – before the arrival of the Spanish (Barreto 1990). Later, these cosmologies merged with Catholicism and with the rituals brought over by enslaved people from West Africa. The cult would also have been influenced, in the early twentieth century, by Spiritism, Cuban Santería, and Haitian voodoo, among other religious practices. The pantheon of the cult of María Lionza includes hundreds of divinities, also known as ‘spirits’ (espíritus), ‘entities’ (entidades) or ‘brothers’ (hermanos). Among these are mythic

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298 Research Practices in Focus figures (such as Santa Barbara or La India Yara), spirits of historical figures (such as past Venezuelan presidents4 or Indian despots who died during the Spanish conquest), as well as characters from comics or television (such as the Vikings or Tarzan). It should also be mentioned that the cult of María Lionza continuously incorporates new divinities adopted from other religions or belief systems. As such, it is common to see figures of the Buddha or the image of Shango, one of the main figures from the Yoruba pantheon, on altars of worship. In fact, the cult of María Lionza maintains a close relationship with other neighbouring cults – especially with the Cuban Santería and the Umbanda of Brazil – to such an extent that at times these religious expressions appear to be inextricably linked. These overlaps have aroused controversies within the cult. Thus, a ‘traditional trend’ advocates ‘purging’ the cult of María Lionza of ‘foreign’ elements and returning to the ‘original’ aboriginal form. This movement is opposed to those groups defending continuities with the cult of African-derived religions. Lastly, the Pentecostal movements, increasingly important in Venezuela, are deeply hostile to the cult, which they often label as an ‘evil work’. A comparative analysis of the myths and representations of María Lionza reveals that this multifaceted divinity is characterised by what I propose to call ‘three main pluralities’: ethnic plurality (she is represented as an indigenous, white, mestiza, or black woman); moral plurality (at times she appears as an evil deity and at others as a benevolent one); and female plurality (sometimes she is represented as a figure of great beauty with an explicitly sexual component and sometimes she is depicted as a fairly ordinary-looking older woman). An especially complex aspect of this goddess is that she frequently appears associated with other deities. It is not uncommon to meet believers who claim that María Lionza is the Virgin Mary or who identify her with figures such as Ochún or Yara (allegedly aboriginal goddesses). Despite the plurality of the goddess’s representations, there are two which are especially popular: one in which she is represented as a white woman with a crown – commonly called La Reina (The Queen) (Figure 9.1) – and one in which she is depicted as an indigenous woman riding naked on a tapir (Figure 9.2). As I have explained elsewhere (Canals 2021), the most important aspect of the image of María Lionza is the

Figure 9.1 María Lionza as La Reina (The Queen)

Figure 9.2 María Lionza as an indigenous woman riding naked on a tapir

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage 299 intimate connection between creativity and presence. In a nutshell, the image of María Lionza functions as a medium precisely because it is constantly reinvented and updated through acts of visual creativity. In this regard, it can be considered an intensive image, open to a permanent process of differentiation. With that in mind, I shall now discuss some of the ways in which I have tried to connect the four fields of visual anthropology in relation to an analysis of the place of images in this religious cult.

The Image as Object Anthropology has a long tradition of research exploring the image as object.These studies – a cross between material anthropology, symbolic anthropology, and aesthetics – range from research on religious images by Tylor (1871) and Lévi-Bruhl (1927) to contemporary studies of visual culture, art practices, and so-called ‘post-photography’ and the question of the ‘visual fake’, to name just a few. From this perspective, the image is defined as an object ‘made to be seen’ (Banks and Ruby 2011) or, in other words, as a visual sign which depicts something or someone else, and which can be interpreted differently depending on each social actor. As ‘living signs’ (Mitchell 2005), images are also performative: they have a particular agency, thus intervening in the world. Images do not ‘reflect’ the world, they are part of it. Of course, anthropology – and more specifically, visual anthropology – is not the only discipline that has expressed interest in images. Aesthetics and the history of art, to name only two, are also branches of knowledge explicitly devoted to this end.That said, in contrast to other disciplines, visual anthropology places the importance of relationships at the heart of its analysis of images. As anthropologists, we are interested in seeing how images are ‘practised’ and conceptualised depending on each cultural and social context. Besides the iconographic relationships which images have with each other, anthropology is especially interested in two aspects: the interactions that individuals have with images and the interactions they form with one another through images. Thus, the image is understood as an agent that weaves the social fabric, as an active element which contributes to maintain and reconfigure the ties existing in a particular community. Interpreted from a relational perspective, the image of María Lionza appears as multiple and dynamic. It is multiple because of its presence in distinct forms and in highly varied contexts in Venezuelan society and beyond, where it takes on a diversity of meanings and functions. For example, in the context of worship, the image of the goddess assumes an explicitly religious role. Placed on altars in the form of a statue or holy card, the representations of the goddess act as mediator between this world and the next, thus acquiring a partially transcendent dimension. During rituals, these altar images contribute, on the one hand, to establishing a relation of co-presentiality between humans and gods, and on the other, to forming a bond between the believers themselves, who are gathered around the religious images. The image of María Lionza also appears as an artistic one. It can be found in galleries and museums in the form of sculpture, paintings, or performance. In contrast to the religious context, where the image of María Lionza is predominantly that of a white woman, in the artistic world this goddess is frequently depicted as an indigenous woman or as a highly sensual white woman (Figure 9.3),5 probably due to the idealised representation of the Indian woman produced by a series of Venezuelan painters and poets in the 1940s. At first glance, everything seems to indicate that the

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300 Research Practices in Focus artistic image is devoid of all religious function. The immanence of the artistic image should thus contrast with the transcendence of the religious image. However, the difference between the two in the cult of María Lionza is much more blurred than this divide would suggest. Numerous ethnographic examples demonstrate this continuity. During my fieldwork, for example, I was able to observe how artists regard their creative work related to María Lionza as a religious activity which they perform to pay homage to the divinity and enter into a relationship with her.6 They also view such creativity as a mode of relationality with the goddess. This ontological ambiguity of the image of the goddess evident in artistic and religious images is also apparent in the images used for commercial, political, or publicity purposes, and in digital images. For instance, the use of estampas (holy cards) is very widespread within the cult. In recent years, however, some believers have replaced these material images with digital ones. Smartphone wallpaper has acquired the protective role that used to be reserved for material images. This is an instance of a process of re-mediation, through which the uses of the images of the goddess are re-imagined and updated. Earlier, I referred to the image of María Lionza as being dynamic because the same representaFigure 9.3 María Lionza as a highly tion can acquire different meanings according to sensual white woman the context and the uses made of it. I recall, for example, an event that took place in Maracaibo, the second most important city in the country. In an esoteric store, a believer bought an image of María Lionza. She paid the amount due and they wrapped it up and put it in a bag, just like any other piece of merchandise. Not long after, this same image presided over a magnificent altar where healing rituals were held. The image-merchandise had become a religious image. This dynamic nature of the image of María Lionza refers to the uses made of specific representative models. For example, early on, the image of María Lionza as an Indian woman riding a tapir was an artistic and sculptural image. Shortly afterwards, however, the cult worshippers reproduced this image in the form of a statuette and used it for rituals, thus converting the artistic image into a religious one. The ‘religiosity’ of the image is not a property per se but rather an event that occurs when the image is intensified in the context of ritual. The same goes for any image in general: images do not mean or ‘do’ anything in the abstract since their meaning and function depend on the particular interactions that are established with them at a given point in time. This shows the importance of ethnographic fieldwork when studying the anthropology of images. The above reflections on the image of María Lionza are based on extensive fieldwork in Venezuela, Catalonia, and on the internet. One of the key issues which the ethnographer must address during fieldwork is that of method. In order to understand the

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage 301 relational characteristics of the image of María Lionza, I chose to design an ethnographic research method where the image played a specific role. In the following section, I shall describe this question in greater detail.

Visual Research Methods and the Act of Looking The objectivist and positivist conception of scientific knowledge defines method as a collection of more or less fixed and predetermined rules which lead to the acquisition and interpretation of data on the outside world, to which a truth may be attributed regardless of the subject’s perspective. This paradigm, which I have simplified here, has been widely debated and to some extent surmounted. We know that the world – and, more specifically, what we may call the ‘social world’ – does not constitute a coherent and single whole, but rather a complex and constantly transforming context. We also know that there is no one objective, neutral truth independent of the subject’s viewpoint. Nor is the subject understood as an immutable unit, but rather as a multifarious and changing being who is historically and culturally defined. This is not to say, however, that the world is an unintelligible chaos in which there are no rules of social organisation for the anthropologist to decipher through critical, rigorous research. In this epistemological discussion, the meaning of the notion of ‘method’ has changed, but only partially. The ultimate goal of the scientific method in anthropology is still to increase our knowledge of human life in society. That said, the scientific method comprising a collection of predetermined rules is no longer aimed at revealing an alleged truth inherent in the world, but rather at identifying a range of strategies for interacting in it, relating with it, and questioning it. And since the method is no longer established ahead of time, but rather forms part of the problem which the anthropologist must address, it acquires a, shall we say, ‘creative’ dimension which in turn implies a reflective stance on the part of the researcher – that is, which obliges him or her to specify, when presenting the research conclusions, the conditions of origin of the ethnographic data. It is necessary, therefore, to question the methods we use, to subject these to analysis, to problematise them, and at the same time, to accept that if the method (or ‘methods’) is a creation, then we can also legitimately invent new ones or venture to mix and freely combine already existing methods which, for one reason or another, have been regarded as antagonistic. However, what criteria should be used when ‘creating’ new social research methods or selecting from among those already in existence? I propose that the characteristics of the object of study can guide us in designing our methodological strategies. Moreover, I propose that there should be a certain homology between the nature of the object of analysis and the method by which we intend to understand it – in this case, the importance of studying images through images. Here, however, we enter an apparent cul-de-sac: I have said that it is precisely the nature of the object of study which should inspire our choice of method, but to approach this reality, we already need a strategy, that is, a sort of ‘method’. The key to overcoming this vicious circle is to understand that before we initiate an ethnographic study, it is first necessary to go through a previous method design phase, a type of ‘pre-fieldwork’ in which the anthropologist observes the social reality in-depth, leaving aside, to the extent possible, the ideological biases which he or she may have about the subject in question. It is from this first phase that the ‘method’ design (which may be the sum of various methods and, more importantly still, may change over the course of the investigation) should emerge.

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302 Research Practices in Focus My fieldwork was established on the basis of this necessary homology between the method and the ‘object’ of study. Early on, I observed that the image of María Lionza was a multifarious and changing object of strong social significance. It was thus necessary to devise a research method that would enable me to capture the creative and relational dimension of this image. To achieve this aim, I designed a method based on two different, yet complementary, uses of ‘visual signs’. First, throughout my fieldwork, I always carried reproductions (either printed or digital) of twenty or so images of María Lionza depicting her in different ways: as white, black, mestiza, Indian, good, evil, etc. I regularly organised meetings with diverse groups of people who did not know each other, at which I invited them to comment on this plurality of representations. These photo-elicitation exercises were extremely valuable for my research. Second, I always included a camera as a fieldwork tool. My goal was not only to use the camera to record events but also to provoke these. And that is exactly what happened: thanks to the presence of the camera, I was able to establish a series of social ties and trigger a set of research situations which would have been unlikely to have emerged otherwise and which enabled me to obtain highly valuable ethnographic data. These performative strategies associated with the use of a camera in fieldwork, while legitimate, must satisfy certain scientific and ethical standards. More specifically, they oblige the anthropologist to be reflective, that is, to make explicit in the study conclusions – visual or textual – the process by which the ethnographic knowledge was obtained. Of particular interest were the experiences where these two visual methods blended together – one using pre-existing images and the other producing new images – and where I filmed the discussions which emerged around the different images of the goddess María Lionza. One of the advantages of using visual research methods in ethnographic practice is that it increases the opportunities for an anthropology of the act of looking. An image does not become one until it is perceived by a spectator as such. Therefore, the study of the image as object is inseparable from the study of how people look at images – and of how images ‘look at us’. But how do we undertake an ethnography of the act of looking? Visual methodologies can help us in this regard. Elsewhere, I have explained how the use of a camera in ritual contexts enabled me to better understand the role of the visual in spirit possession rituals (Canals 2018a). Here, I would like to delve into another exercise I have explored, which is participatory cinema. Giving the camera to others enables us to see how they see. Thus, I sometimes asked the people with whom I worked to make photographs of their own rituals and altars, focusing on what they considered to be the most important elements of them. However, an ethnographic study does not end when the fieldwork ‘is over’, but rather when the experiences, images, and thoughts generated over the course of the study have been analysed, discussed, and articulated into a kind of ‘discourse’ or ‘argumentation’. It is with a brief commentary on this process of generating and presenting the results obtained during my fieldwork that I shall conclude this article.

The Image as Discourse I have always felt there was a certain contradiction in studies of images which only employ text or in which the image is at most given a secondary role subordinate to the pre-eminence of the verbal discourse. The same goes for anthropologists who use visual methods to obtain ethnographic data in their fieldwork, but who then, when presenting their research conclusions, merely refer to this material without making it available to

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage 303 readers in the final publication of their research. These two attitudes stem from a theoretical principle – of which perhaps the researcher is not always fully aware – in which all that is said about an image (or has been learned from the use of images as a visual research method) can be directly and fully expressed through written language. I would encourage researchers to overcome this paradigm and to seek creative ways to relate images and words – together with sound and other forms of communication (like smell and touch), which are also modes of perceiving and knowing. In the vein of contemporary efforts in multimodal anthropology, I conceived of the ‘results’ of my research on the cult of María Lionza not as single, separate pieces but rather as an eclectic assemblage in which each ‘outcome’ was defined by its relation with the others. The possibilities for expression multiplied: it is not only that you can say different things through different media, but also that you can evoke different ideas through the relation generated between different (yet interconnected) outcomes. Recursively, through comparison, this paradigm enables us to reflect upon the features of each medium or means of communication. My research on the cult of María Lionza yielded four main types of outcome: films, texts, a website, and an exhibition. Regarding the first of these, I made two long films about María Lionza (one in Venezuela and another in Barcelona) and two short films.7 Cinema has a unique capacity for capturing and reproducing life in motion. It does not work with abstract concepts but with situations, that is, pieces of lived (and shared) experience. As a consequence, film is a particularly suitable medium for showing actions, bodies, and the material elements of social reality. It is for this reason that in the film The Many Faces of a Venezuelan Goddess (2007, CNRS-Images) I focused on showing the relationship that different individuals in Venezuelan society (artists, believers, mediums, and actresses) established with and through the image of María Lionza. Furthermore, thanks to editing, film is again an especially suitable medium for expressing the symbolic relationships established between the images themselves. In fact, through ‘intellectual’ editing inspired by the ‘dialectical montage’ of the Soviet school, we can evoke the symbolic continuities and discontinuities that exist between the representations found in diverse contexts. This is exactly what I did in the film A Goddess in Motion (2016, Wenner-Gren Foundation) in order to visualise the changes that the cult of María Lionza undergoes when ‘migrating’ into another context. In this film, I also adopted a reflective attitude, appearing myself on the screen and showing the kind of rituals an anthropologist must observe in order to film a ritual. It is relevant to note in this regard that the so-called multimodal turn is primarily about viewing research not as a single-authored outcome but as a dialogic process during which a myriad of ‘provisory’ and experimental ‘results’ are generated. Traditionally, most of these ‘drafts’ (be they images or texts) have been neglected in the final presentation of the research. We should seriously consider the possibility of making them accessible. This would be a much fairer, more transparent, and more collaborative manner of showing what research really is. Regarding the text, I have always strived in my books and articles to give importance to images, as a complement to the written language. For example, for my book, I produced a series of fixed image sequences through which I aimed to demonstrate the relational nature of the image of María Lionza. The process of producing these visual schemes – in another text defined as ‘iconic paths’ (Canals 2021) – was useful for interpreting the images themselves and, in this sense, also became a method for reflection. See an example of these schemes in Figure 9.4. At the top, there is an unpainted bust of María Lionza represented as a queen. If the bust is painted according to traditional songs (b), it becomes a religious image. However,

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304 Research Practices in Focus

Figure 9.4 Visual schemes to demonstrate the relational character of the image of María Lionza

if it is painted in a unique, provocative, and deliberately personal way (a),8 it becomes, in principle, an artistic image. This demonstrates how the iconographic or aesthetic characteristics of an image partially condition its use, and in consequence, indicates the range of possible interactions that can be established. Nevertheless, as I explained earlier, this differentiation between the religious and the artistic image is not as clear as it may seem, because the difference does not depend so much on the intrinsic characteristics of the image as on the context in which it is found and the intention with which it is used. During the course of my research, I also designed a collaborative website which had two main functions. On the one hand, it displayed the provisory research results (films, field notes, photographs). On the other, it represented a participatory strategy aimed at endowing the research with continuity. Thus, the website enabled believers to send me their own images of María Lionza and to comment on those of others. In this regard, it became a powerful medium for ethnography based on an exchange of images. Lastly, in 2021, an exhibition on María Lionza was held at the Museum of Ethnography in Barcelona, in which a large altar was displayed with some of the most representative images of the cult and reproductions of several artworks, including pieces of experimental video and pop art. Despite the constraints imposed by the pandemic, the exhibition served to render this research public and accessible to a wider audience (entrance was free) and contributed to dissemination of this cult, which is also practised in Barcelona, although most of the city’s inhabitants are unaware of it (Figure 9.5).

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Figure 9.5 María Lionza exhibition display, Museum of Ethnography, Barcelona

Image in the Social Sciences In the mid-1970s, visual anthropology became consolidated as a partially autonomous discipline within the field of social and cultural anthropology (Hockings 1995; Banks and Morphy 1999; Pink 2006). For a good number of years, it has had its departments, its conferences, its journals, and its film festivals, and it has established alliances with other sub-disciplines and trends such as the anthropology of the senses, digital anthropology, the anthropology of art practices, or more recently, multimodal anthropology. Moreover, scholars working on, with, and through images have historically maintained close contact with professionals working beyond academia, namely in the world of cinema and photography. Despite the evident importance of images in the contemporary world and the popularisation of visual devices in recent years, we need to acknowledge that image-based methods and visual forms of representation (visual-essay, film, interactive platforms, websites, comics, and so on) are still not fully integrated in academia. Yet ever more seminars and workshops are being held on these topics, and more especially, a new generation of students is demanding a greater presence of the visual in the social sciences. In my opinion, one of the reasons for the peripheral position of visual anthropology within academia is that it has been misleadingly judged by many scholars solely on the basis of its method, or rather, on the basis of one of its possible methods: the use of the camera in fieldwork. In fact, the visual anthropologist is still regarded by many as someone who captures images during ethnographic research and who makes films or photographic sequences. On top of that, many scholars still regard so-called ‘ethnographic cinema’ as

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306 Research Practices in Focus a branch within ‘realistic’ documentary film (excluding, for example, novel practices in experimental film and anthropology). This simplification of the field of visual anthropology isolates the discipline and has led to a clearly asymmetric relationship between visual anthropology and its fellow disciplines, which save for some exceptions do not use visual methods in their research, because there is no institutional equivalent to visual anthropology called ‘textual anthropology’ which brings together all anthropologists who express themselves solely through the medium of text. All this has been discussed ad nauseam. It is time, I think, to abandon once and for all old academic quarrels between the so-called partisans and detractors of images in the social sciences and adopt a broader and more integrated approach. It seems to me evident that contemporary society cannot be studied without taking into account the importance of vision and visual culture. Regardless of whether we study kinship, the economy, or gender, images and the politics of looking are involved. It is also obvious that social scientists cannot go on doing research as they once did in the pre-digital age. We have a wide range of possible visual methods to hand for conducting research, and for doing so in more ethical, transparent, and collaborative ways. Images provide us with opportunities to experiment with alternative modes of representation and dissemination of knowledge. It is important nevertheless to bear in mind that these different fields (the study of images, work with images, visual-based modes of representation, and the study of vision) are intimately interwoven at a theoretical and practical level. I am increasingly convinced that the true consolidation of visual anthropology (and, in general, of the visual in the social sciences) will depend not only on the establishment of more specific university courses, but also and especially on the normalisation of the use of audio-visual techniques in social research. Thus, among the general skills that any researcher should possess, there should be a minimum of knowledge of visual theory and methodology. Of course, there will always be ‘specialists’ in visual culture and in the use of visual devices, but these should not constitute a separate group, but rather a consubstantial section within the academic community. Sooner or later, the generalised use of the image will become inevitable. And this is good news. Hence, in the future, we will stop debating, for example, whether images or texts are more suitable for social research and we will instead devote our time to designing plural and experimental modes of knowing and communicating that will enable us to create more egalitarian relations with the people with whom we work, endowing us with a better understanding of how images and visuality shape the way we inhabit the world and relate to others.

Critical Questions 1. What are the benefits of producing an ‘eclectic assemblage’ in research? To see the multiple outcomes of Professor Canals’s research, look at the website: www.va-marialionza.com. This site reflects the plurality of outcomes resulting from this research in a single platform (articles, books, radio programmes, films, photography, and an exhibition). 2. Consider the various depictions of María Lionza mentioned in this essay – why can it be considered an ‘intensive image’? 3. Professor Canals discusses the use of image sequences (or ‘iconic paths’) to reflect on the nature of an image. In the essay he illustrates this with an unpainted bust

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Research as an Eclectic Assemblage 307 of María Lionza and how it is changed depending on its end user and their values and beliefs. Choose images of your own and consider how they can be transformed when used for different purposes or with different value systems. 4. Consider using the CDA framework as illustrated in Diagram 5.4. with the images of María Lionza. Might this provide a form of ‘iconic pathway’ to also allow critical reflection on the meaning and construction of such images? 5. Do you agree that we have now reached a point where the traditional academic anxieties and objections about visual research should be dispensed with?

Online materials • www.va-marialionza.com • https://rogercanals.net/

Notes 1 Originally, this research formed part of my PhD research, conducted at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales de Paris and at the University of Barcelona, which I presented in 2008. 2 All these materials can be consulted on the website: www.va-marialionza.com. 3 Elsewhere, I have provided detailed accounts of the history of the cult of María Lionza and the historical formation of the main images representing her (see Canals 2011, 2012a, 2012b, 2013, 2014a, 2014b, 2018a, 2018b, 2020a, 2020b, 2021, and especially 2017). 4 The statue of Hugo Chávez (1954–2013) is already present on some altars of the cult. This issue provokes strong controversies among believers. 5 Felipe Guevara, Sin título. Mixed media on canvas. 200 x 100cm. 2002. Artist’s collection. 6 See the film The Many Faces of a Venezuelan Goddess (2007, CNRS-Images). www.va-marialio nza.com. 7 See: www.va-marialionza.com. 8 Patricia Proaño, Transmutación de la imagen. 46 x 70 x 62cm. 2006. Artist’s collection.

References Antolínez, Gilberto (1995) Los ciclos de los dioses. San Felipe: Ediciones La Oruga Luminosa. Banks, Marcus and Morphy, Howard (1999) Rethinking Visual Anthropology. London: Yale University Press. Banks, Marcus and Ruby, Jay (2011) Made to Be Seen. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Barreto, Daisy (1990) ‘Perspectiva histórica del mito y culto a María Lionza’. Boletín Americanista, 39–40: 9–26. Barreto, Daisy (2020) María Lionza. Divinidad sin fronteras. Mérida: Universidad de los Andes. Barreto, Orlando (ed.) (2005) La diosa de la danta. San Felipe: UNEY. Canals, Roger (2011. ‘Les avatars du regard dans le culte à María Lionza (Venezuela)’, L’Homme. Revue Française d’Anthropologie, 198–199: 213–226.

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308 Research Practices in Focus Canals, Roger (2012a) ‘¿Más allá del dualismo? Reflexiones sobre la noción de “cuerpo” en el culto a María Lionza (Venezuela)’, Revista de Dialectología y Tradiciones Populares, LXVII(1): 241–266. Canals, Roger (2012b) ‘Del indio mítico al mito indígena’, in G. Orobitg and G. Celigueta (eds) Autoctonía, poder local y espacio global frente a la noción de ciudadanía. Barcelona: Publicacions i Edicions de la Universitat de Barcelona, pp. 225–256. Canals, Roger (2013) ‘Le froid divin. Âme, corps et sens dans le culte à María Lionza (Venezuela)’, in M. Rougeon and J.P. Santiago (eds) Pratiques religieuses afro-américaines. Terrains et expériences sensibles. Louvain-la-Neuve (Belgium): Académia-Bruylant/L’Harmattan, pp. 111–142. Canals, Roger (2014a) ‘Dioses de tarifa plana. El culto a María Lionza y las nuevas tecnologías’, in Mitos Religiosos Afroamericanos, Barcelona: Centre d’Estudis i Recerques Socials i Metropolitanes, pp. 227–257. Canals, Roger (2014b) ‘Global gods and local laws:Venezuelan immigrants in Barcelona’, in E. Isin and P. Nyers (eds) Handbook of Global Citizenship Studies. London: Routledge, pp. 508–521. Canals, Roger (2017) A Goddess in Motion. Visual Creativity in the Cult of María Lionza. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Canals, Roger (2018a) ‘The Mirror Effect: seeing and being seen in the cult of María Lionza (Venezuela)’, Visual Studies, 33(2): 161–171. Canals, Roger (2018b) ‘Studying multi-modal religions: migration and mediation in the cult of María Lionza (Venezuela, Barcelona, Internet)’, Visual Anthropology Review, 34(2): 124–135. Canals, Roger (2020a) ‘Spirits against the law’, Ethnos, 85(3): 507–531. DOI: 10.1080/ 00141844.2019.1580303 Canals, Roger (2020b) ‘Los espíritus interfaciales. Comunicación, mediación y presencia en el culto a María Lionza’, in G. Orobitg (ed.) Medios indígenas: teorías y experiencias de la comunicación indígena en América Latina. Frankfurt: Iberoamericna Vervuert, pp. 239–263. Canals, Roger (2021) ‘The intensive image’. HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory, 11(1): 202–217. Clarac de Briceño, Jacqueline (1970) ‘El culto de María Lionza’, América Indígena, XXX(2): 359–374. Clarac de Briceño, Jacqueline (1983) ‘Una religión en formación en una sociedad petrolera’, Boletín Antropológico, 4: 29–33. Clarac de Briceño, Jacqueline (1996) La enfermedad como lenguaje en Venezuela. Mérida: Universidad de Los Andes. Fernández, Anabel and Barreto, Daisy (2001–02) ‘El culto de María Lionza: del pluralismo espiritista a la contestación’, Antropológica, 96: 13–30. Ferrándiz, Francisco (2004) Escenarios del Cuerpo. Bilbao: Universidad de Deusto. Garmendia, Hermann (1980) María Lionza. Ángel y Demonio. Caracas: Seleven. Hockings, Paul (ed.) (1995) Principles of Visual Anthropology. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien (1927) L’âme primitive. Paris: Bibliothèque de Philosophie Contemporaine. Manara, Bruno (1995) María Lionza. Su identidad, su culto y la cosmovisión anexa. Caracas: Universidad Central de Venezuela. Mitchell, W.J.T. (2005) What Do Pictures Want? Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Pink, Sarah (2006) The Future of Visual Anthropology. London: Sage. Pollack-Eltz, Angelina (1972) María Lionza, mito y culto venezolano. Caracas: Universidad católica Andrés Bello. Tylor, Edward Burnett ([1871] 1994) Primitive Culture. London: Routledge.

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Conclusion

Over forty years ago, Umberto Eco made a prescient comment when he ventured that: A democratic civilization will save itself only if it makes the language of the image into a stimulus for critical reflection – not an invitation for hypnosis. (Umberto Eco (1979) ‘Can television teach?’, Screen Education 31: 12) His point is perhaps even more significant today in a society where we are ever more dependent on electronic visual media for so much of our knowledge of events in the outside world through vicarious consumption of images, especially television and the new electronic media. The types of visual study being advocated in this book have emphasised that active critical approaches to the image are essential if we are to understand the power and potential latent in images, and not be overwhelmed by their proliferation. Visual studies highlight features of social reality in special ways. Although the image is not reducible to language, we nevertheless depend on language to anchor the meanings of images, to harness them to our arguments and demonstrate processes and illustrate theoretical effects with them. The relationship between language and images is complex, as Roger Brown (p. 000) notes: we can conceive the written, the spoken and the visual modes of representation as a complementary triad that enables us to gather empirical data, organise, structure, interpret and analyse it; that in certain areas overlap, such as combining text with images, images with sound and haptic performances, but in others remain discrete and separate in their individual modes of discourse and inscription. The discussion about these complex relationships and the manner in which sensory information is presented and framed through discursive structures has been a key contribution of this text. Images have enormous productive potential due to their openness and the multimodal combinations they generate. It has become apparent that the image is at once particular and explicit and capable of seductive deception. As John Hartley points out: ‘Just as it is very hard for photographers to get their subjects to remain still for long enough to be photographed, so pictures themselves are never still, either in signification or social circulation’ (1992: 34).This book contains dozens of ‘readings’ of different images showing the restless semiotic fluidity of their interpretation over time, between different media, and through the different institutional settings which might produce or use them. Visual research is special because it throws issues of subjectivity, reflexivity and interpretation into sharper focus.The fact that visual data are already perceived and interpreted DOI: 10.4324/9781003250746-14

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310 Conclusion by others – part of a ‘double hermeneutic’ – indicates that people will evaluate visual messages differently based on complex differences and commonalities between their experience of the world, their political, social and cultural values. Researchers are no different in this – they also have cultural baggage which they must declare when they frame an analysis. But rather than an obstacle, reflexivity is an essential resource for the social researcher: ‘Reflexive methodological work is the servant of research findings that aim to highlight inequalities and tackle social njustices, rather than its equal partner – a tool rather than an end in itself ’ (Dean, J 2021: 179). Where studies present visual records of people and communities, the researcher strives for a collaborative intersubjective approach which avoids ‘outsider arrogance’ and hopefully leads to a more negotiated understanding of other people rather than one that merely imposes a set of cultural and theoretical values. The relationship between images in a case may be seen to provide a form of ‘thick description’ whereby the unfolding dynamics of the case are interwoven to show the interplay of discourses. Images and a vast array of multisensory signs combining in multimodal relationships with language in the circulation of cultural meaning: producing and reproducing and regulating social meanings and affirming individual and group identities. Several chapters have addressed complex social and political uses of the image and suggested some applications to research methods. In particular, the discussion centred on a range of phenomenological approaches which utilise visual materials, allowing a vivid and deeper examination of evidence. The suggestion that the experience of generating, looking, analysing and using images aids the development of a more critical ‘eye’, more attuned to the visual dimension of social life, has been further borne out in Part II where four visual researchers have explained their visual practices, revealing the insights such studies can yield. These issues being revisited now, twelve years since the first edition of this book, are much less tentative and defensive; visual methods are an inevitable and essential aspect of future research practice. The chapters are not intended as a definitive guide to the practice of visual methods; such research is – of necessity – always ‘in progress’, developing creative and versatile approaches. This is the enduring strength of visual research practice; it maintains the critical fluidity needed in sociology, eschewing as Dorothy Smith suggested the ‘god’s-eye view’ in favour of the everyday vision which informs the researcher’s ignorance. We need to look and listen more carefully and be less hasty to dismiss the most ‘mundane’ sights. It is clear from the first five chapters that research is less linear than some might pretend and, where the image is concerned, positivist procedural doctrines must be revised to include our own compromised subjectivities. The visual may highlight this more than conventional research methods because it focuses on images whose meanings are not easily or objectively measured. By their very nature, images are polysemic and depend on the cultural capital and intertextual knowledge of their beholders and producers. Therefore, visual social science challenges and disrupts the mindset which seeks to reduce all research to numerical analyses, supporting instead those forms of research which recognise the importance of human reflexivity as an essential component of fallible and open research. In his influential article, Denzin (2009) emphasises the severity of the attack which presents plural forms of qualitative research as dangerously subjective, attacking the reflexivity of the researcher as an underlying malaise which needs to be rooted out. Certainly, the fragility of global circumstances thirteen years later suggests that today there is even more at stake:

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Conclusion 311 We are living in a depressing historical moment, violent spaces, unending wars, against persons of colour, repression, the falsification of evidence, the collapse of critical, democratic discourse, repressive neo-liberalism disguised as dispassionate objectivity prevails. Global efforts to impose a new orthodoxy on critical social science inquiry must be resisted. A hegemonic politics of evidence cannot be allowed. Too much is at stake. (Denzin 2009: 155) Such a straitjacket on social research must be resisted, but given the inescapable importance of subjectivity in qualitative research, it is difficult to see how the whirlwind of social reality can ever be restored to some positivist Pandora’s black box. The examples in this book indicate the power of multimodal visual research, which depends on a conscious and intersubjective approach in which researcher reflexivity is valued as central to a negotiated understanding rather than something to be excised from the process.The use of visual evidence and the focus on manifestations of social phenomena proves to be not only an enriching and indispensable part of social research, but one which exposes the weaknesses of more traditional objectivist paradigms.

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Appendix

Figure A.1 The Incredulity of St Thomas

Sites visited Caravaggio: Paintings, Quotes, Biography, The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, 1603, by Caravaggio. www.caravaggio.org/the-incredulity-of-saint-thomas.jsp (last visited 31 January 2021). The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (Caravaggio), Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/The_Incredulity_of_Saint_Thomas_(Caravaggio) (last visited 31 January 2021). Three Minutes of Art, Caravaggio: The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (1602). www.3mi nutosdearte.com/en/fundamental-paintings/caravaggio-the-incredulity-of-saintthomas-1602/ (last visited 31 January 2021). The Incredulity of Saint Thomas. www.caravaggio.net/the-incredulity-of-saint-thomas/ #:~:text=As%20with%20many%20of%20Caravaggio’s,nature%20of%20Chr ist%20 on%20earth (last visited 31 January 2021).

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Appendix 313 Diagram A.1 Using Rose’s sites and modalities to interpret The Incredulity of St Thomas by Caravaggio (1602) Modality

Site of production

Site of the image itself

Site of audiencing

Technological

How was it made? Medium: oil Support: canvas Subject: Religious parable Art movement: Italian Baroque

Visual effects: ‘A solid Romanesque archway formed by the outline of the four figures clustered intimately together against a dark background.’ Focus on motif of hands. Christ guiding Thomas’s hand to the wound. The other apostles’ hands kept out of sight. Composition? A break with traditions of painting, ‘a style of unflinching realism’ reflects the artist’s controversial naturalism – the materialism of Christ’s portrayal. Baroque features – chiaroscuro–dramatic exaggeration carried out to extremes known as ‘tenebrism’. Visual meaning: Can be read on different levels – i.e. as a representation of a religious scene – lives of the saints/apostles; or as a deeper discourse about nature of faith, truth, evidence and the real. Clash between scientific scepticism at miracles – and the exhortation of the church to make a leap of faith without evidence.

Transmission/ circulation? Originally for Vincenzo Giustiniani before entering the Prussian royal collection, surviving the Second World War intact. Currently in Sanssouci Picture Gallery, Potsdam, Germany. Many copies were made by other artists.

Compositional Genre? A religious parable (‘doubting Thomas’) reflecting the influence of the counterReformation and northern European interest in scientific naturalism.

Social

Who? St Thomas and two other apostles with resurrected Christ When? 1602 For whom? Italian Baroque system of patronage – painted for the Marchese Vincenzo Giustiniani around 1601–02 Why? As a challenge to blind faith? or to the clergy? or a cleverly judged reflection on the style and tone of paintings which wealthy patrons appreciated?

Viewing positions offered? In a standard high artistic gallery Relation to other texts? ‘probably related to Saint Matthew and the Angel (1602) and the Sacrifice of Isaac (1603), all having a model in common’ (Wikipedia). A second version has been re-discovered in Trieste, Italy in a private collection. How interpreted? As a comment on the tension between faith and reason (concept of ‘doubt’). Christian faith as sacrosanct – needing proof shows lack of faith – ‘Because thou hast seen me, Thomas, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen and have believed.’

Source:Table adapted from Gillian Rose’s ‘The sites and modalities for interpreting visual materials’ (2016: 25).

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Glossary

Aberrant decoding A term coined by Umberto Eco (1965) to highlight the problems of interpreting (decoding) a text by means of a different code from that used to encode it (e.g. what are the conventions for understanding rhythm and blues music or the Mona Lisa? – one may be ethnocentric and time-bound to US black culture of the post-war period, the other dependent on complex codes of expression employed in society and art of the time of Da Vinci; see, for example, Eco’s Misreadings, 1994). In another example, Eco, entertainingly, imagines a (post-holocaust) world 2,000 years in the future. Archaeologists picking through the layers of our lost civilisation, fragments fused together and misinterpreted; popular lyrics from a musical (Oklahoma) interpreted as rites of fertility and evidence of human sacrifice, fused in turn with fragments of mythology (Fraser’s Golden Bough or Golden Bowl). Bricolage/Bricoleur Lévi-Strauss derived the meaning of bricolage from the ‘bricoleur’ – someone who does odd jobs, making and mending things from bits and pieces which have been left over from previous jobs. In The Savage Mind (1962) he suggested that ‘aboriginal’ people were just as adept at solving problems as ‘civilised’ people, they would solve everyday problems by making creative use of what was available in the environment. The concept provides a ‘science of the concrete’ by which the world is ordered in minute ways. In the visual arts it implies the use of whatever comes to hand and its eclecticism fits within a postmodern ethos. Similarly in research some would argue that the researcher uses a necessary bricolage. As Yardley argues,‘the case for multi-layered narrative inquiry as a paradigm of ethical research’, seeing the researcher as, a bricoleur, a maker of patchwork, a weaver of stories; one who assembles a theoretical montage through which meaning is constructed and conveyed according to a narrative ethic that is neither naïvely humanistic, nor romantically impulsive – but rather one that stimulates an inclusive and dynamic dialogue between the researcher and her audience. (A.Yardley (2008) ‘Piecing together – a methodological bricolage’, Forum: Qualitative Social Research 9(2): art. 31)

Discourse The term encompasses a spectrum of uses from the directly linguistic analyses of spoken or written language, especially important in our analyses of research data (interview

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Glossary 315 transcripts, media texts, advertising, institutional documents), but also textual analysis in the broadest way is seen as mediated by discursive practices which stem from much more complex socio-historical sources. Issues of gender and sexuality as well as race, ethnicity, age and class have all been presented as shaped and affirmed by (or challenges and transgressions of) discursive structures. This relationship of power/knowledge and institutional and textual processes has led to a range of strategies for researchers examining not just language but a whole range of constitutive codes and practices. In addition, it is important to convey the sense of discourse as the unseen medium in which social interactions and identities are shaped. As Vivian Burr comments: ‘Discourse is to the person as water is to the fish’ (Burr 2003: 54). Discourse is constitutive of the social world, framing the way we perceive reality. Discourse creates objects of knowledge (Foucault). A multitude of alternative versions of phenomena potentially available through language. So, for any one object, event, person, etc. there may be a variety of different discourses each with a different story to tell. Consider the discourses around immigration and the competing claims made across the political spectrum. On the one hand there is the humanitarian discourse of refugees and the rights of asylum set out by the European Convention on Human Rights. However, the rhetoric that has become commonplace and has been adopted by governments begins to focus on securing borders against ‘invasion’, on criminalisation of ‘illegal migrants’. And in response to the traumatic loss of life in the Channel and Mediterranean crossings, the state discourse legitimises often draconian measures to turn back, deter, contain, dissuade people who are often labelled as ‘financial migrants’. Evidence conversely showed that the majority of these migrants were fleeing persecution from countries impacted by western military intervention: Iraq, Libya, Syria, Yemen, Afghanistan. The legal discussion has shown that these policies of moral panic and demonisation focusing on use of ‘evil’ criminal gangs, and the deterrence of migrants for their own good, have proved totally ineffective in the UK with the rapid increase in crossings of the Channel between 2019 and 2021 from 1,800 in 2019 to 25,800 in 2021. Restricting the legal application for asylum in the UK is a vote-winning strategy which fits with the Brexit discourse of securing borders, but it forces desperate people to seek other means of arriving. So everyday issues like immigration are fuelled by divisive and highly political discursive practices which are characterised by the delimitation of a field of objects, the definition of a legitimate perspective for the agent of knowledge, and the fixing of norms for the elaboration of concepts and theories.Thus, each discursive practice implies a play of prescriptions that designate exclusions and choices. (Foucault 1977: 199) Discourse is especially effective when a visual dimension is prominent. The UKIP poster, for example, featured in Chapter 4, which was modelled on earlier posters used about Jewish refugees by the Nazis, or the image of the small boy whose body was washed up on a Greek beach, harrowing scenes of migrants caught between Belarusian troops forcing them at gunpoint to breach the Polish border across which Polish militia are trying to drive them back. These spectacles underscore the claims to the truth about migrants.

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316 Glossary Epistemology The philosophical theory of knowledge, which seeks to define it, distinguish its principal varieties, identify its sources and establish its limits. (Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought) The study or inquiry into the origin, possibility, and constitution of knowledge. Its central questions are: what does it mean to know something and by what means are we able to have knowledge? In asking these questions it also brings into play issues to do with doubt, scepticism, and truth, because implicit in the question of what it means to know something is the issue of whether one’s knowledge can ever be complete … (A Dictionary of Critical Theory (2nd edn) (2018). Oxford: Oxford University Press) As these quotes establish, this is a concept which seeks to understand what is known about a phenomenon and how it can be known. In this book the research process has been discussed in terms of how knowledge can be acquired visually or at least with visual (or multimodal) aspects. This inevitably calls into question issues of reflexivity and what our relative position is to the phenomenon and the community it is occurring in. Clearly, in some situations we may be out of our depth, or what we understand may be more revealing about the structure of our own culture than the culture we are seeking to explain. Therefore, epistemological concerns are a very important part of addressing how we can ‘know’ the social world. Guba and Lincoln (1994: 108) suggest the following three questions can be used as a measure of different paradigms of thought. For example, contrast a social constructionist view with a positivist empirical one. In the first case the nature of reality can only be known from relative, subjective positions, and qualitative measures are all that is possible, while in the latter view, there are believed to be truths about the nature of reality which are universal, objective, and quantifiable. •

The ontological question

What is the form and nature of reality and, therefore, what is there that can be known about it? •

The epistemological question

What is the nature of the relationship between the knower or would-be knower and what can be known? •

The methodological question

How can the enquirer go about finding out whatever he or she believes can be known? It does seem that the three concepts are inextricably linked. Epistemology is essential because it determines how researchers can frame the enquiry and make justifiable knowledge claims.

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Glossary 317 Habitus The habitus has a long history in philosophical and social thought. It came to prominence with the work of Pierre Bourdieu as a concept which helps to explain the manner in which lived experience shapes the material and psychic being of individuals and social groups. The habitus, a product of history, produces individual and collective practices  – more history – in accordance with the themes generated by history. It ensures the active presence of past experiences, which, deposited in each organism in the form of schemes of perception, thought and action, tend to guarantee the ‘correctness’ of practices and their constancy over time more reliably than all formal rules and explicit norms. (Bourdieu 1990: 54) Bourdieu is suggesting that the objective conditions of existence – material events in social history – generate the habitus which, like a grammar of behaviours, in turn generates certain dispositions, attitudes and behaviours; a lexicon from which each individual may choose. This might allow a view of ethnic identity and boundaries which does not treat focus on social class or gender, or other socio-cultural aspects, as positioned higher or lower in some sort of hierarchy of formative identity features. Because all such influences are part of the habitus and have been ultimately derived from the history of an individual, a group, or indeed a population.The habitus is definitely not an idealist or abstract concept: the habitus only exists in, and through and because of the practices of actors and their interaction with each other and with their environment: ways of talking, ways of moving, ways of making things, or whatever. (Jenkins 1992: 27) The habitus has features in common with a Marxist notion that material conditions giving rise to a social class will be reproduced in the material practices of those experiencing such conditions. At the same time, the habitus can avoid the pitfalls of Marxian and plural society theories which presuppose some inevitable cycle of ethnic conflict or class struggle. Haptic This term refers to the perception through the sense of touch in which contours, textures, shapes, edges, etc. of objects and surfaces are sensed through the skin in a directly somatosensory manner. It also includes the internal proprioception of body in which we have a sense of the physical relation between parts of the body (e.g. in the dark, knowing where our hands are in relation to our heads). Gibson (1966: 97) defined the haptic system as ‘The sensibility of the individual to the world adjacent to his body by use of his body’. So haptic visuality might include active exploration of movement, shape and textures, physical sensations, wetness, dryness, temperature, etc. and the perceptions of images which convey these sensory data. Marks (1996: 20) captures the sensory impact of haptic visualisation: ‘In haptic seeing, all our self rushes up to the surface to interact with another surface.’

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318 Glossary Identity As Bob Hodge states in a 2012 essay: Etymology is a sadly neglected branch of Linguistics and CDA alike. Here as elsewhere it is a helpful way into understanding the complexity of the word today. ‘Identity’ comes from Latin idem-et-idem, ‘that one and that one’, or ‘the same and the same’. This history brings out the deictic basis of the word. Identity does not represent a quality, it points to elements in the world, in a primal act of classification. (2012: 5) This is very instructive when we consider the importance that identity has in terms of social inequalities. Discrimination lies in this primal act of sorting, but as Stuart Hall emphasised, identity is always about difference rather than similarity: ‘the notion that identity has to do with people that look the same, feel the same, call themselves the same, is nonsense. As a process, as a narrative, as a discourse, it is always from the position of Other’ (Hall 1997: 49). In addition, the sense of identity is a work in progress,‘a negotiated space between ourselves and others; constantly being re-appraised and very much linked to the circulation of cultural meanings in a society’ (Taylor and Spencer 2004: 4). Finally, while there is much more to be said, it is important to recognise that this development, this ‘production’ of identity, ‘is never complete, always in process, and always constituted within, not outside, representation’ (Hall 1990: 222). Identity politics While the origins of the term are obscure it is likely to have emerged from within specific ethnic women’s groups in the late 1960s – especially with Black Feminism. Identity politics is often used to indicate the fragmentation of social movements towards particular facets of identity: ethnicity, nation, sexuality, etc. Similarly, multiculturalism is seen to be a certain stage in the movement of identity politics which has arguably divided once united resistance movements of the left (e.g. the Anti-Nazi League, which as an umbrella group included a sort of rainbow coalition of ethnicities and left-leaning political groups). The argument that there was a need for ‘strategic essentialism’ in consciousness raising and political resistance sometimes united groups (e.g. of feminists or ‘black’ activists) and at other times divided their ranks as a specific strand (e.g. lesbian feminists or black feminists) became the platform for the struggle, and being subsumed under the general banner of feminism ignored these important identities which differentiated these groups and reflected different challenges and patterns of disadvantage. Indexicality A term used by Charles Sanders Peirce who was an early American semiotician who proposed three key relationships of signs to their referents in the world: first, iconic – which demonstrates a resemblance or similarity between the form of representation and the thing referred to. Examples would include photographs, painted portraits or statues, in which the resemblance to a person, thing or place is genuinely recognisable or imputed. Second, ‘indexicality’ is a trace or a symptom of the thing, like the rash caused by measles, or smoke; the former is an index of the disease, the latter an index of fire. Finally, the symbolic, referring to the language employed, which is for the most part merely an abstract marker, refers to the physical relationship between the object photographed and the resulting image.

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Glossary 319 It should be added that these are relational qualities and far from hard edged, a photograph, for example, by its very nature has indexical qualities and can equally be symbolic. Institutional ethnography A highly influential approach to combine both method and practice in empirical social research pioneered by prominent Canadian sociologist Dorothy Smith: ‘Institutional ethnography recognises the authority of the experiencer to inform the ethnographer’s ignorance’ (Smith 2005). Using a broadly Foucauldian vision of power and ethnomethodological approach, that is, enables the analysis of internal systems of institutions – placing the individual perception within the bounds of institutional rules and discourses. It has been applied in a wide variety of analyses. Interpellation ‘Ideology represents the imaginary relationship of individuals to their real conditions of existence’ (Althusser 1972: 162). The term interpellation (calling or hailing, holding or detaining for questioning) refers to the process of how people step up into existing social positions; people are constituted or constructed by pre-existing social structures (a structuralist stance). Althusser’s example: a police officer shouts ‘Hey, you!’ in public. An individual turns round and ‘by this mere one-hundred-and-eighty-degree physical conversion, he becomes a subject’ (Althusser 1972: 174). This sort of positioning is arguably implicit in many mass media messages. Advertising seeks to make the reader/viewer recognise themselves in their brands and their products. To convince us that we not only need something but that it is already part of our own implicit ideology. For example an ad which aims to sell disposable razors to men might picture the profile of a man driven by hard work and achievement striving for perfection etc., or hypermasculine pursuits, might interpellate the viewer who feels this brand represents a (perhaps far from achieved but nonetheless aspirational) self-image which appeals to him. Intersubjectivity The term implies the individual’s subjectivity is dependent on networks of relationships. In a very real sense, our identity is constantly negotiated and re-negotiated through communicative encounters with others. Marcia Langton (2005) writes: ‘“Aboriginality” … is a field of intersubjectivity in that it is remade over and over again.’ Richard Jenkins in a discussion of constantly evolving identity employed the concept of an ‘internal/external dialectic’ as a central argument in the formation of both individual and collective identities (see Jenkins 2004: 18–26). In research it is important to recognise, as Emma Owen’s discussion (Chapter 2) demonstrates, that ethnography requires a negotiation recognising how one’s own culture has a legacy traditionally measuring the rest of the world’s cultures against a western canon of values. Instead, a form of two-way negotiation is necessary. Intertextuality The interrelationship between texts: usually one text’s reference to another. This location of a cultural reference point (most often a historically prior one) usually takes the form of diffuse memories, echoes and reworkings of other texts. Intertextuality is particularly prevalent in ‘postmodern’ texts, which often play on the notion that everything is a

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320 Glossary reworking of something else to produce a ‘pastiche aesthetic’ (the hotchpotch of historical styles visible in postmodern architecture). Mediasphere When identities and complex cultural meanings are the object of study, understanding is always positioned and subjective. Knowledge produced by research, through the visual researcher’s collection and interpretation of data, is socially constructed. Hence only by pursuing a reflexive approach, in which a rigorous analysis of motives behind the interpretative path chosen takes place, might a tentative sense of validity be achieved. Central to this view is the process by which social and cultural meanings (including interpretative paradigms) are mediated between the wider cultural sphere (semiosphere), the mediasphere and the public sphere. It is important to examine and reveal the disciplinary discourses – their language, texts, and institutional practices which shape our interpretations – if validity is to be strengthened (see Hartley 2002: 142). Myth Based on the work of structuralist anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss, two fundamental principles of myth can be suggested: first, that the meaning of myth does not lie in isolated elements, but in the combination of these, and meaning is a dynamic produced by transformation of meaning between surface and deep structures. Second, myth has a language which exhibits properties over and above the ordinary linguistic level. Like ordinary language, myth is composed of constituent units. In linguistics, these are morphemes and phonemes – but in the language of myth these units differ from natural language because they belong to a higher and more complex language. Lévi-Strauss (1958) suggested the existence of ‘mythemes’, arguing that each version of a myth could be broken down into a series of sentences consisting of a relation between a function and a subject. Sentences with the same function were given the same number and bundled together – and these were mythemes, the smallest constituent of myth. We might regard myth, he said, as an orchestral score; working along two axes simultaneously, the diachronic and the synchronic. The score for the orchestra must be read diachronically, page by page, yet must also be understood synchronically – we

MYTH

1. Signifier Language Myth

2. Signified

3. Sign

1. SIGNIFIER III SIGN

Figure G.1 The structure of myth

II SIGNIFIED

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Glossary 321 hear resonances – bundles of meaning. His work affirms that there is no direct relationship between a work of art and the reality it is supposed to portray. Myth works as a moulding or mediating force rather than as a reflective agency. Barthes’ approach to myth focuses considerable time and energy on the elaboration of systems which ‘make the world heavy with meaning’ to convert objects to signs (see Culler 2002: 46). Yet the nature of myth for Barthes is one in which its socially constructed nature is hidden, and instead it is presented as natural or common-sense. Some of the examples in this book demonstrate this vividly; images used in media, advertising, photojournalism and ethnography often illustrate different degrees of naturalism. Figure G.1 is adapted from Barthes’ Mythologies (1957: 115) and shows myth as operating at a meta-level as a second order level of signification. This suggests that a transformation takes place of ‘the materials of mythical speech (language itself, photography, painting, posters, rituals, objects, etc.)’ (ibid.: 114). Once they are caught up in the web of myth, these are ‘reduced to pure signifying function’ (ibid.). Barthes is suggesting that myth constructs these different codes as mere means to an end: Whether it deals with alphabetical or pictorial writing, myth wants to see in them only a sum of signs, a global sign, the final terms of a first semiological chain. And it is precisely this final term which will become the first term of the greater system which it builds and of which it is only a part. (ibid.: 114–15) The importance of the techniques discussed in this book is to demystify those texts which present a view of social reality which is uncritical and based on implicit (and unexamined values). Phronesis Gr.Wisdom, good sense, good judgement, prudence n. one of the four cardinal virtues. (Penguin Dictionary of Philosophy, edited by Thomas Mautner, 2000) Aristotle is the classic philosopher of phronesis. In Aristotle’s words, phronesis is an intellectual virtue that is ‘reasoned, and capable of action with regard to things that are good or bad for man’. Phronesis concerns values and interests and goes beyond analytical, scientific knowledge (episteme) and technical knowledge or know-how (techne), and it involves what has been called ‘the art of judgement’, that is to say, decisions made in the manner of a virtuoso social actor. Aristotle was explicit in his regard of phronesis as the most important of the three intellectual virtues: episteme, techne, and phronesis. Phronesis is most important because it is that activity by which the analytical and instrumental rationality of episteme and techne is balanced by value-rationality (Flyvbjerg Bent (2009) What Is Phronetic Planning Research? What Is Phronetic Social Science? http://flyvbjerg.plan. aau.dk/whatisphronetic.php) Clearly fine judgement and non-malfeasance are qualities to be internalised by researchers. Perhaps there is a special duty of care for individuals engaged in visual research who have to think on the spot to make balanced ethical decisions about how visual techniques are used.

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322 Glossary Positionality The complex and elusive term used to recognise individual subject position in relation to the research practice or indeed to any interactive context. Paulo Friere’s radical pedagogy suggests that teachers ought to embrace their own and their students’ narratives of experience and hence a consciousness of our relative positionality is significant in the classroom where our own subjectivity is part of the dynamic of the teaching context. For example, a white middle-class male teacher may receive a very different response from a black, working-class female teacher. In visual terms the complex intersubjective relationships between the researcher and the respondent and the interpretation of visual media underline the value of this concept. Preferred reading This is a concept coined by Stuart Hall ([1973] 1980) used in media and cultural studies to suggest that there are implicitly favoured interpretations of media stories embedded into the text. By the language used and the social context of the source, the meaning is socially positioned. A problematic concept which suggests that texts often contain cues which favour a certain reading and constrain the openness of the text. This may not be a consciously manipulated meaning but the implication is that a dominant ethos of ideology is able to hold sway in the manner the text is structured. John Fiske has demonstrated this in several places. If there is an ‘ideal audience’ for a newspaper article then surely a preferred reading of the story is equally possible. The way this is achieved may not be through overt propagandist techniques (although in tabloid journalism it may certainly seem so!), but the language and imagery may be part of complicit codes of certain social groups (e.g. white, middle-class, male, over 25, etc.). Psychogeography The study of psychogeography seems to have been developed during the mid-twentieth century by the avant-garde Parisian revolutionary group ‘The Letterist International’, which later formed ‘The Situationist International’. But the roots of the approach seem to go deep into French culture and the character of the flâneur. ‘Baudelaire identified the flâneur in his essay The Painter of Modern Life (1863) as the dilettante observer. The flâneur carried a set of rich associations: the man of leisure, the idler, the urban explorer, the connoisseur of the street’ (Tate.org.uk). Psychogeography is the suggestion that by cultivating the dérive, a sort of aimless drifting which opens up an awareness of different energies and features beyond the everyday, the city is defamiliarised. De Certeau suggests that ‘the everyday has a certain strangeness that does not surface, or whose surface is only its upper limit, outlining itself against the visible’ (1993: 154). Beneath the matter-of-fact surfaces of tarmac and concrete are the memories, imaginings and lived experiences invested in those spaces. Rather than approaching the city through a pre-conceived dissection of its attributes and dimensions, the intention was to allow the disparate rhythms, boundaries, contradictions and multiple meanings to present themselves unbidden – like Debord’s concept of the dérive, literally drifting: ‘a technique of rapid passage through varied ambiences’ (Debord 1958). In Chapter 3 it was considered how such a visual exploration of the city might defamiliarise the everyday surfaces, allowing fresh insights to emerge.

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Glossary 323 Rhizome Deleuze and Guattari argue that all of western thought is ‘aborescent’, tree-like, in structure, with a supposed singular original source. Instead, they put forward the radical notion that the network represented by a rhizome is more useful and closer to the multiple and more truly equal horizontal form of relationships of many to many. The rhizome could be considered a radical form and, as in the example of relationships between people and places, a meshwork (or rhizomatic network) allows a different perspective. Similarly, the understandings of the relationship between structures and discourse may fit better with this web-like structure than going back to the infamous tree. Perhaps this is an example of what Wittgenstein meant by the statement ‘A picture held us captive. And we could not get outside of it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat itself to us inexorably’ (Wittgenstein 1976: 48; Mitchell 1994: 12). Perhaps, as discussed, images have a denotative and iconic power to influence meaning and can trap the viewer and restrict what is understood and the terms of reference used. Deleuze and Guattari’s rhizome is a case in point – if this mindset becomes embedded, then processes can be considered in the style of taxonomies stemming from only one primary origin. Ritual condensation The term ‘ritual condensation’ stems from anthropology, showing the symbolic valorisation of an object, a sort of shortcut to meaning bridged by this ‘vehicle’. As Turner suggests: ‘many ideas, relations between things, actions, interactions, and transactions are represented simultaneously by the symbol vehicle (the ritual use of such a vehicle abridges what would verbally be a lengthy statement or argument’ (Turner 1972: 86). In visual terms, an icon, or religious artefact, like the cross or the Eucharist, and indeed any object, can serve in this role, imbued by the user(s) with special qualities and used as a symbol. In Roger Canals’s essay in this text, it is clear that María Lionza in her many forms serves as a condensation of many abstract attributes. The broader conception of the term is also applicable to a wider range of cultural and media artefacts, and even events and consumer products which stand in as symbolic exchange for broader societal issues. Scopic regime The dominant frame through which the world is seen. Christian Metz’s term captures the implicit idea of competing visualities wrestling for dominance over the others. Originally intended to refer to film genres it can be extended to describe the control of what and where and how we look and is arguably at the heart of power today. Donald Trump (as Kellner reminds us) was extremely adept at diverting and dominating the public gaze; even if the content was infuriating and nonsensical, he directed the visual narrative. Martin Jay made this point: the scopic regime of modernity may best be understood as a contested terrain, rather than a harmoniously integrated complex of visual theories and practices. It may, in fact, be characterized by a differentiation of visual subcultures, whose separation has allowed us to understand the multiple implications of sight in ways that are now only beginning to be appreciated. (‘Scopic regimes of modernity’, in Hal Foster (ed.) (1988) Vision & Visuality, Discussions in Contemporary Culture Number 2, Dia Art Foundation, p. 4)

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324 Glossary Scopophilia A term used by Laura Mulvey to describe voyeurism and ‘the look’ in cinema. Derived originally from Freud’s theoretical canon, Mulvey has convincingly shown that the (typically male gaze) defines and possesses the ‘other’. Furthermore, by viewing films or other texts, we are positioned as the voyeur. Some feminist theorists have employed the term as a way of discussing the look as central to the power of both patriarchal and colonialist constructions of otherness. Semiosphere Lotman coined the term semiosphere in analogy to and in extension of Vernadsky’s (1926) concept of the biosphere. While the biosphere comprises ‘the totality of and the organic whole of living matter and also the condition for the continuation of life’ (Lotman 1990: 125), the semiosphere is ‘the semiotic space necessary for the existence and functioning of languages’. It is a space which has ‘prior existence and is in constant interaction with languages’ (ibid.: 123). Indeed the semiosphere is as old as human culture ‘and co-evolved with technologies ever since humans gained the power of speech’ (Hartley et al. 2020: 7). The boundary has another function in the semiosphere: it is the area of accelerated semiotic processes, which always flow more actively on the periphery of cultural environments, seeking to affix them to the core structures, with a view to displacing them. … Insofar as the border is a necessary part of the semiosphere, the semiosphere also requires a ‘chaotic’ external sphere and constructs this itself in cases where this does not exist. Culture not only creates its internal organisation, but also its own type of external disorganisation. (Lotman 2005: 212) Recently, Hartley, Ibrus and Ojamaa (2020) have extended Lotman’s analogy to an exploration of the global digital sphere, using Lotman’s ‘sophisticated and prescient Semiosphere Yuri Lotman’s concept of the whole cultural universe including all its speech communication and textual systems

Mediasphere John Hartley 1990 concept of the total output of the media both fictional and factual.

Public sphere Public sphericules E.g. ‘diasporic media’

Figure G.2 Different spheres of cultural meaning

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Glossary 325 thinking’ as a tool to think with ‘to subject globalization in the digital era to a positioned “outside” perspective from which it can be better understood and measured’ (ibid.: 6). Simulation The notion that the image has arrived at a stage where it is indistinguishable from that which it represents. Baudrillard suggests there has been a historical transition through successive phases of the image: • • • •

it is the reflection of a basic reality it masks and perverts a basic reality it masks the absence of a basic reality it bears no relation to any reality whatever: it is its own pure simulacrum. (Baudrillard 1983: 11)

This appears to be an extreme contention questioning the foundations of realism. Baudrillard’s nihilism, however, has garnered support from critiques of the mass media and its global corporate management which at times appears to present a restricted, centralised model of world events like wars and global disasters. Hand in hand with these globalising processes, technological advances have allowed increasingly accurate visual models (e.g. computer animations) while surveillance and media intrusions into everyday life as entertainment (reality TV) add grist to the nihilistic mill that we are living in a world of constructed appearances, of artifice. Thick description This is a concept which Geertz developed from the philosopher Gilbert Ryle. Ryle cites the example of the wink in a cultural context where it could be interpreted as an involuntary physiological movement – ‘blinking’ – or a symbolic cultural sign – ‘winking’. Geertz argues that understanding the role and meaning of such symbols in the patterning of culture is a major task of ethnography. Such behaviours are intrinsically cultural and hence the proper object of study in social anthropology: The concept of culture I espouse is essentially a semiotic one. Believing, with Max Weber, that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning. (Geertz 1973: 5) Geertz gives a vivid description of this sort of ethnography in the following quote: The point for now is only that ethnography is thick description. What the ethnographer is in fact faced with – except when (as, of course, he must do) he is pursuing the more automatised routines of data collection – is a multiplicity of complex conceptual structures, many of them superimposed upon or knotted into one another, which are at once strange, irregular, and inexplicit, and which he must contrive somehow first to grasp and then to render. And this is true at the most down-toearth, jungle field work levels of his activity: interviewing informants, observing

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326 Glossary rituals, eliciting kin terms, tracing property lines, censusing households … writing his journal. Doing ethnography is like trying to read (in the sense of ‘construct a reading of ’) a manuscript – foreign, faded, full of ellipses, incoherencies, suspicious emendations, and tendentious commentaries, but written not in conventionalised graphs of sound but in transient examples of shaped behavior. (Geertz 1973) However, if thick description is employed to interpret the signs and symbols of a culture which may be alien to the researcher, this therefore begs the question of how the outsider can be better equipped to provide an accurate analysis of the ‘native’s’ cultural experience than the natives themselves. The third effect The ‘third effect’ is generally a term which describes what happens when any two photographs are juxtaposed without any textual clues. In this text there are several examples, particularly those in Panizza Allmark’s essay. While we read the images separately, the disorienting affect of the juxtaposition can create an uncanny sensation. This ‘third effect’ is a subjective one, but nevertheless important. The meaning of images, and the individual meanings of elements in them, may be drawn from a cultural imaginary from the broader semiosphere (although this is subject to complex nuances depending on identity of the viewer). But sometimes, when elements are juxtaposed, either accidently or intentionally (as in the examples Panizza Allmark gives in her essay), there is a ‘third effect’, which can rupture the normal attribution of meaning. This is not dissimilar to Barthes concept of the punctum which accents the image and may subvert the expected or intended reading of the scene. Similarly, the pairing of images may contradict and throw into question not just our interpretative skills but the rooted nature of a world of meaning.

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Index

aberrant decoding, 28–30, 59, 314 aboriginality, 76, 79, 116, 219, 222–4, 319 advertising, 32, 35–6, 43–4, 60, 70, 99, 129, 155; identity symbols, 91, 171; product attributes, 185–6; semiotics of, 206, 210–13; status, 182–3, 185 Africville, 130–5, 147 Age identity, 163–6 agenda-setting, 12, 71, 132, 227 ‘anomalous’ zone of, 124, 165–6 ‘Arab Spring’, the, 38–9, 128 archive research, 72, 77, 93, 109, 118, 134–5, 164, 167, 178–9, 202, 218–20 art, 2, 27–8, 29, 33, 240, 252, 260, 269, 273, 275; anthropology of, 305; consumption, 181–2; discourses of, 27–8; indigenous, 222, 225; public 16, 17, 18, 65, 93; see also graffiti Asch, Solomon, 19 aspirational consumption, 179, 186, 319 Atget, Eugene, 245 aura, 35, 146, 177 auto-photography, 86 ‘available discourses’ (on Aborigines), 12, 56, 203, 207, 217 Bachelard, Gaston, 27, 95, 112 banal nationalism, 24, 155 Bandersnatch (Brooker), 255 Banks, Marcus, 2, 3, 5, 25, 26, 30, 42, 64, 69, 195, 223, 274 ‘bardic role’ (of TV), 180 Barthes, Roland, 31, 35, 199–201, 203, 206, 208–9, 212–13, 275, 321 Baudrillard, Jean, 40, 113, 325 Beer-Can-Regatta, 220–1 Benjamin, Walter, 110, 112, 127–8, 201, 245–6 Berger, John, 23, 43, 134, 201 Bernays, Edward, 39 binary oppositions 211–12; see also Levi Strauss ‘black armband’ (view of history), 109, 115, 149, 160–1

Black Lives Matter, 2, 147, 154, 157, 160–1, 174 Blue Velvet (David Lynch), 166 body projects, 186 Borges, Jorge Luis, 113, 120 boundaries, 12, 27, 58, 72, 82, 110; bodily, 128; class/consumption, 181–2; disciplinary, 241; ethnic, 157; maps, 112–14, 119–20; spatial, 137, 248; transgression of, 244; visual, 247–8, 279 Bourdieu, Pierre, 12, 181–2, 198 brand identity, 186, 212 Brexit, 2, 16, 23, 126, 142, 157, 163, 167, 174, 315 bricolage, 179, 314 Buenos Aires, 251–2 Bunt, Brogan, 136 Cambridge Analytica, 36 Cannibal Tours (Dennis O’Rourke), 58 carnivalesque, 250 Cartier-Bresson, Henri, 271, 276, 278 cartography, 113, 147 case studies, 24, 67–9, 78, 194–5, 223 Chomsky, Noam, 12 chora, 249 charro, el, 170–1 ‘cine-provocations’, 58 Cities of Whiteness (Shaw, 2007), 222 class (social), 12, 15, 22, 43, 77, 97, 100, 124, 156, 164, 175; and body image, 187; and consumption/taste, 181–2 Cocker, Jarvis, 127 Cohen, Anthony, 67, 170 Cohen, Stanley, 164, 225 colonialism, 62, 66, 81, 125–6, 128, 157, 160–2, 220 Colonial Frontier Massacres Project, 116, 138 Colston, Edward, 154, 157–8, 161 commodity fetishism, 177, 179, 186 ‘concerned photography’, 248 conformity, 19, 43, 248, 250

349

Index 349 consumption, 112, 156, 170, 179, 185; collective, 121–2; modes of visual, 116, 121–3, 142–3, 145, 309; palaces of, 124; and status, 181–2 countervisualisation, 38–9 COVID-19, 2, 9, 72, 76, 166, 174 Critical Discourse Analysis, 214, 223 Critical Race Theory, 45 critical realism, 13, 33, 68, 88 cultural imaginary, 12, 18, 161, 174, 218, 220 Dale Street (Lancaster), 176, 179 Darwin (N. Australia), 24, 25–6, 72, 77–8, 108, 202, 216–18, 222–3, 225 Data Protection Act, 84 Debord, Guy, 22, 39, 110, 322 De Certeau, Michel, 246, 322 Denzin, N., 66, 310–11 dérive, 110, 322; see also Debord; psychogeography ‘desire economy’, 186 De Saussure, Ferdinand, 70, 203–4 dialectic, 24, 78, 83, 122, 168, 172, 319 dialectical image, 127, 246, 248 diaspora, 157, 173, 241 diegesis/mimesis, 27, 278 digital analysis, 226, 228–9, 232, 241, 256 ‘digital revolution’ 15, 43, 228 ‘digital labour’ 44 digital video, 259, 264, 267, 268, 269 discourse, 12, 24, 27, 30, 34, 36–7, 67, 81, 86, 99, 116, 124, 126, 145, 157, 167, 169, 201; analysis, 4, 202–3, 214–18, 222–3, 225–6; anthropological, 58, 142, 217; hermeneutic, 275–7; image as, 302–11; photographic, 243, 250, 271–4 documentary photography, 57, 240, 248, 271–9, 281–2 ‘double hermeneutic’ (Giddens), 55, 310 Eco, Umberto, 29, 309, 314 edgelands, 95 emojification, 38 ‘enlightened witnesses’ (bell hooks), 46 ‘epistemic fallacy’, 13 epistemology, 13–4, 55–6, 68, 87–8, 316 ethics, 55–6, 58–9, 83–7, 92, 96, 239–41, 248, 274, 278, 281, 306, 314, 321; situated, 85–6 ethnography, 24, 45, 66–9, 242, 268; ‘indirect’, 63, 88, 225; institutional, 166–7, 214; salvage, 135; urban, 240, 245; virtual, 147; visual, 57, 59, 63–5, 88, 134 ‘ethnographic cinema’ 305 explicitness (of photography), 15, 33, 35, 45, 53, 60, 62, 309 extra-somatic’ image, object or memory, 22, 106

‘fake news’, 18, 36 false consciousness, 20, 127, 179, 186, 213, 272 family albums, 61, 77, 84, 86 feminism, 27, 43, 244–6, 251, 324; black, 318 feminist counter-aesthetic, 83, 243 Fanon, Frantz, 162 Fiske, John, 42, 70, 180, 205, 208, 220, 221, 322 flags, 24, 91, 155, 157, 251 flâneur/flâneuse, 110, 245–6, 322 Floch, Jean Marie, 185 Floyd, George, murder of, 2, 3, 84, 157, 161, 173 foot-led research 130–4; see also ethnography Foucault, Michel, 12, 20, 22, 80, 156, 216–17, 315 found images, 61, 63, 68, 225, 246, 248 Freud, Sigmund, 39, 244 gaze, the, 20, 246, 323; see also Mulvey; scopophilia; cinematic, 263, 265; consumer, 46; institutional, 20, 37, 39, 80, 166–7; and landscape, 142–3; male, 39, 245–7, 324; victimist, 77, 84 Geertz, Clifford, 45, 55, 194, 325–6; see also thick description gender, 68, 240, 243, 244, 248, 250–2, 267, 306, 315 geographic imaginary, 168 Glasgow University Media Group, 70 ‘glocal’, 112 graffiti, 17, 61, 65, 93–7, 99–100, 114–15, 161 Grenfell Tower, 118, 141 grounded theory, 118, 229 habitus, 12, 181–2, 317 haptic images, 273, 309, 317 Halfeti, 135–7, 139, 147 Hall, Stuart, 12, 31, 39, 156, 214, 226–7, 318, 322 Harper, Doug, 3, 57, 68, 83, 86, 88, 183 hegemony, 18, 32, 39, 44, 79, 156, 157, 181, 311; counter-hegemony, 32, 39 hegemonic masculinity, 240 “hermeneutic circle”, 32, 203, 226 hermeneutics, 241, 271, 272, 275–6; see also double hermeneutic heteronormative, 243, 251 heterotopia, 98, 132 Historico-Naturalis et Archaeologica ex-Dale Street, 178–9 Hogarth, William, 220 ‘hostile environment’ policy, 76 Husserl, Edmund, 61, 100 hybridity, 10, 47, 76, 91, 127, 156 hyperreality, 40, 145, 146, 247

350

350 Index iconography, 91, 130, 156, 170, 197, 241 identity, 154–7; collective, 169–75; indigenous, 89–90; in photography, 84, 88; of place, 98, 106–7 ‘identity politics’, 43, 154, 159, 186, 318 ideology, 27, 31, 36, 44, 70, 127, 175, 206, 213, 322; definitions, 2, 205, 319 ‘ideological complex’, 36, 186 image-centricity, iii, 9, 10, 44 imagined community, 18, 147, 155 immigration, 23, 115, 154, 167, 315 indexicality, 2, 33–6, 42, 214, 318–19 industrial ruins, 93–5, 98, 112, 123, 124, 239 informed consent, 63, 84–5, 100 internal-external dialectic (Jenkins), 175, 319 interpellation, 175, 319 intersectionality, 10, 222 intersubjectivity, 59, 62, 65; aspects of images, 195–9; process of interpreting cultures, 66, 88, 100; understanding ‘place’ 135; video strategies, 78–9 intertextuality, 15, 30, 36, 69, 95, 184, 195, 197, 212, 244, 310, 319–20 Intervention policy, 73, 101 ‘interview society’, 1 ‘Je suis Charlie’, 159 Johnson, Boris, 23, 160, 175 Lacan, Jacques, 39, 196, 319 Landseer, Edward, 20–1 Last Cab to Darwin (Jeremy Sims), 108 landscape, 142–6, 273; ‘auratic’ landscape, 112; gendered, 243, 250; stigmatised 116, 123, 139–42; see also traumascapes; vernacular, 60, 109 Lefebvre, Henri, 112 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 70, 320 lifeworlds, 56, 61, 62, 87, 242 Line of Duty (TV crime drama), 180 McLuhan, Marshall, 258 Magnolia (1999, Dir Paul Thomas Anderson), 256 Malinowski, S., 64, 65 maps, 94, 113–20; cultural, 114–15, 116–17; Google, 120–1; hand-drawn, 106, 117–20; historical, 20; mental, 134, 155; political, 1; urban divisions, 118–20 Mapuche (indigenous people of Chile), 86–92, 99, 100 Margolis, Eric, 80 Maria Lionza, 169, 173, 179, 180, 242, 296–306 marketing, 38, 182, 185, 213 Marx, Karl (Marxism), 112, 177 massacre sites (in Australia), 116

matrix of cultural identity, 155 ‘matter out of place’, 124, 244 media management (‘spin’), 21, 130 mediation, process of, 79, 92, 194, 271; cross-mediation, 10; re-mediation, 300 mediasphere, 10–11, 99, 320, 325 memento mori, 18, 201 MeToo, #, 244 Metz, Christian, 38 meshwork, 107, 323 meta-narrative, 271 metaphor, 27, 69, 98, 157, 245, 272–3, 277 Mirzoeff, Nicholas, 3, 38–9 Mitchell, W.J.T., 12, 19, 22–3, 46, 55, 196, 299, 319, 323 moral panics, 81, 164, 166–7 multiculturalism, 32, 76, 81, 124, 126, 129, 159 multiple methods, 83, 223–4, 226 multimodality, 6, 9, 10, 11, 13, 24, 76, 142, 181, 202, 239, 297, 303–5, 309, 310–11 multiple realities, 68, 87, 127, 246 multi-sensoriality, 44, 45, 94, 135, 142, 240, 310 Mulvey, Laura, 324; see also the gaze; scopophilia myth, 40–1, 114, 142–3, 165, 210; in advertising, 210–11; Australian bush, 109–10, 114, 218–19, 220, 224; Barthesian, 203, 208–10, 213, 320–1 mythemes, 320 Mythologies (by Roland Barthes), 321 narrative(s), 18, 40, 225, 241, 256, 272, 278; documentary, 62, 64, 273–5; ethnographic, 271; filmic, 256, 258–9, 260–2, 326; identity as, 318; research, 69–72, 229; visual, 75, 276, 281, 288, 323 National Geographic, 227–8 nature, 95, 98, 107–8, 109–10; and culture, 107, 109, 110, 124, 127–8, 218–19, 220, 224; countryside as, 142–6; and identity, 91; and industry, 95, 98; and ‘the natural’ 123–4, 142–6; and the sacred, 143–4 neoliberalism, 79, 93, 241, 311 new media, 9, 255 new technology, 42, 44, 79, 120, 240, 265 ‘new visibility’ the, 9 noeme, 34–5 nomadic images (and objects), 69, 169, 173 nominalization, process of, 205 non-places (placelessness), 110–11 Northern Territory News, 215, 218 NVivo, 229–31 Obama, Barack, 41 objects, 57, 61, 65, 69, 98, 106; biography of, 177–9; see also ritual condensation; precious, 175–7

351

Index 351 objectification, 77, 162, 167, 171, 177, 210 One Mile Dam (in Darwin), 24, 26, 72–3, 75, 112, 139, 147, 222–4 ontology, 13, 33, 35, 53–4, 68, 87–8, 100, 195 ‘ontologically neutral’, 53 ‘operation margarine’ (Barthesian term), 210–12; see also myth oral traditions, 67, 77, 115, 132, 134, 147, 227 otherness, 18, 58, 77, 78, 84, 125, 147, 207, 208, 324 outsider arrogance, 56, 59, 83, 310 Overton Window, the, 12 pagan(ism), 30, 142, 247 Paglia, Camille, 247 Panofsky, Erwin, 197, 199 panopticon, 36–7, 124, 129, 143 paradigm (Kuhn), 56–7, 80, 83, 162, 195, 248, 256, 301, 303, 314; of ‘the trace’, 33 paradigms (semiotics), 204–5 parallel arguments (Banks), 24, 26, 122, 196 pareidolia, 28–9 ‘participatory culture’, 44, 47 pastiche, 156, 246, 320 Peirce, Charles, Sanders, 48, 318 ‘permanent connectivity’, 41, 44, 46 phenomenology, 35, 58, 61, 62, 63, 69, 100, 106, 135, 169, 199, 222, 271, 310 Phlegm (graffiti artist), 94, 95, 97, 101 photo-documentation, 63, 92 photo-elicitation, 53, 86, 88, 228, 302 photo-essay, 92, 118, 251, 281, 296 phototherapy, 27 photovoice, 92 Pilger, John, 43, 47, 101, 138 Pink, Sarah, 3, 27, 45, 58, 66, 120, 130, 134–5, 274 pleasure, visual, 46, 117, 137, 246 polysemy (of the image), 15, 33, 39, 310 pornography, 101, 196, 246–7 positionality, 31, 202, 240, 322 positivism, 66, 79, 83, 113, 301, 310–11, 316; hyper-, 205 postcolonialism, 45, 62, 112, 161–3 post-industrial, 93, 123 postmodernity, 20, 40, 41, 56, 156, 187, 246, 314, 319; critique of ethnography, 57, 66 power, of the image, 38–40, 53, 55, 72, 76, 115–16, 155, 171–3, 175, 184, 188, 199, 201, 208 power/knowledge (Foucault), 217–18, 315 power relations, 12, 55, 56, 66, 114, 127, 154, 157, 217 ‘preferred reading’, 31, 205, 322 product fetishism, 177, 179, 186 propaganda, 35, 42, 43, 129, 166, 169, 173, 204 ‘propaganda model’, 12

Prosser, Jon, 3, 21, 59, 61, 63, 84, 106 prosumers, 44 psychogeography, 110, 322; see also Debord public sphere, 10, 12, 164, 173, 320, 324 punctum, 233, 275; see also studium quantitative (methods), 96, 111, 226–8, 256, 265, 287 ‘queering of space’, 243, 251 queer feminist practice, 243 racism, 2, 31, 75, 76, 81, 125, 131, 154, 208, 225; environmental, 132–3, 139; in sport, 173–5 Ravilious, James, 273, 280 reading positions 12, 15, 31–2; see also Hall reality TV, 36, 41–2 Rear Window (Dir: Hitchcock), 264 reflexivity, 46, 56, 60, 65–6, 78–9, 81, 89, 186, 194, 226, 241, 274, 310, 320; self-, 173, 244 relational accountability (in research), 87 ‘repeat photography’, 145 representation, visual, 20–1, 29, 32, 26, 39, 46, 57, 59, 61, 66, 65, 83–4, 89, 120, 122, 145, 154, 156, 195–6, 199, 227, 232, 273, 296, 305; collective, 169–70; gap, 33–4, 143; of gender, 243–4, 248; idealized, 299; of identity, 13, 154, 156, 318; of ‘place’, 106, 108; realm of, 13, 68–9, 130, 163; superficiality of, 39, 198 ‘Rhetoric of the Image,The’ (1984), Roland Barthes, 207–8, 281 rhizome (Deleuze and Guattari), 107, 323 Ricoeur, Paul, 1, 32, 203, 271–2, 275–8 Riefenstahl, Leni, 43 ritual condensation, 171, 174–5, 179–80, 323 Rose, Gillian, 46, 69, 194, 227, 232, 313–14 Rottnest Island (Wadjemup), 138–9 Rouch, Jean, 57–8, 78 Ruskin, John, 271–2 sacred (and profane, the), 220, 240–1, 245–7 sacred sites, 59, 112 Schutz, Alfred, 61–2, 87 scopic regimes, 11, 36–9, 43, 46, 72, 146, 323 scopophilia, 39, 324 screen-time, 147, 156, 256, 261 Second Life, 147 semiosphere (Yuri Lotman), 10–11, 13, 16, 203, 320, 324 semiotic (analysis), 4, 10, 77, 170, 199, 201–2, 203–13 sexuality, 10, 163, 167, 217, 247–8, 280, 315, 318 Shortcuts (Robert Altman), 256 significative autonomy, 33 simulation, 40–1, 113, 325

352

352 Index social construction, 50, 57, 62, 66, 68–9, 72, 78, 139, 169; of aboriginality, 116–17; of place, 106–7, 110, 121, 135, 144; of teenager, 163–6 social Darwinism, 58, 135, 198 ‘society of consumers’ (Bauman), 99, 180–1 ‘sociological imagination’ the 60–1, 75, 80; see also Wright Mills Sontag, Susan, 35, 42, 188, 201 ‘spatial purification’, 131 ‘specified generalisation’, 23–6, 47, 62 spectacles 22, 36–41, 46, 80, 130, 167, 174, 186, 224, 240, 252, 315; see also Debord; King of the Spectacle, 41 split-screen technique, 256, 258 SPSS, 267 Stalker (Andrei Tarkovsky), 95 statues, 62, 63–5, 124–6, 128–9, 154, 157–8, 161–2, 249–50, 299, 318 status, 12, 182, 184; gender, 184, 246; symbols, 178–9, 181, 187; via social media, 181, 188 subculture, 99, 166–7, 170, 323; -capital, 97; post-, 99 subjective relativism, 56 sublime, the, 95, 143, 243 subliminal images, 24, 184 suburbia, 65, 98, 108, 117, 120, 124, 179, 245 surrealism, 28, 245 surveillance, 1, 22, 36–9, 187, 217, 262, 264, 325; see also panopticon; CCTV-, 46; self-, 187 symbols, 2, 18, 67, 69, 99, 113, 142; of national identity, 154–6, 160, 169–72, 179, 187, 209, 325–6; objects, 180 symbolic anthropology, 299 symbolic interaction, 80; self-completion, 178 symbolic violence, 162 Szarkowski, John, 271, 279

televisual aesthetic, 259 Terra Nullius, 114, 148 ‘thick description’ (Geertz), 45, 55, 325–6, 310 third effect, the, 156, 189, 252, 326 tourism, 10, 58, 145, 222, 225 traumascapes (Tumarkin), 139–42, 148, 221 triangulation (in mixed method research), 224, 265 tropes, 11, 31, 46, 55, 145, 212, 278 Trump, Donald, 21, 36, 41, 323 Twin Towers, The, 140

taking the knee, 173–5 tattoos, 186–7 teenager, invention of, 163–6

Zapata, General Emiliano, 170–3 ‘zapping’, 259 Zizek, Slavoj, 2, 128, 181

Ukraine, 2, 41 uncanny, the, 83, 95, 128, 240, 243–4, 246–8, 251–2 validity (in research), 3, 59, 67–9, 78, 83–4, 92, 100, 224, 228, 239, 320; communicative, 72 ‘vigilant subjects’, 129 visual anthropology, 20, 57, 242, 296, 299, 305–6, 323 visualization, 228–30 votive offerings, 176–7, 180 voyeurism, 39, 264, 324 walking rhetorics (De Certeau), 107, 116 Ways of Seeing (John Berger), 43 whiteness, 24, 43, 77, 81, 115, 138, 145–6, 157, 162, 181, 218–19, 221–2 Williams, Raymond, 142 Windrush, 74–6 Wittgenstein, Ludovic, 19, 22, 195–6, 199, 202, 323 word clouds, 230–2 Wordsworth, William, 143 Wright Mills, C, 60, 80; see also the sociological imagination